


C'etait Toi (You Were The One)

by L_M_Biggs



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Character, Brief mentions of abuse but not much more than in the actual show, But please know that I will take some liberties, Depression, Drug Use, I have read the comics but I have chosen to ignore them because I like the show a billion times more, Is Hughie bi? Is he demi? Who knows because I don't, M/M, Oral Sex, Pansexual Character, Suicidal Thoughts, We're going to be following the show's story line pretty closely, no betas or editors we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs
Summary: Hughie decided to buy a gun. That seemed like the easiest way to end things. After all, the statistics of men committing suicide by gunshot was significantly greater than the statistic of women who had been burst by careless super-speedsters. He had been unimportant all his life, this would be poetic, in a way.
Relationships: Hughie Campbell & The Frenchman, Hughie Campbell/The Frenchman
Comments: 75
Kudos: 49





	1. Vincent by Don McLean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superfandomqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfandomqueen/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need a gun.” He said, quietly at first, waiting for the men to notice him. When they did he opened his wallet and fumbled out cash. “I need a gun.” He repeated louder, holding out a thousand dollars to one of the men.

“You can’t do this, you don’t have the fight. You never have.” Hughie stared at his father, leaning over the pile of papers and an open laptop, frozen like he was facing an oncoming semi. Remington Steele played in the background, a low murmur of sound, the heartbeat of this tomb that he lived in. Hugh Sr looked apologetically at his son and Hughie couldn’t help but feel his heart shattering even further at the words from his father. “ I’m - I’m sorry, but it’s true. Neither do I. Come and… Come and sit with me, okay? Remington Steele is on.”

Hughie turned, walking towards the door of the house, his entire chest aching as he thought of how his dad could think so little of him that he would stop any fight before Hughie could even begin it. 

“Hughie? Hughie, where are you going?”

The door slammed shut and Hughie walked down the stairs to the front of the building, out into the crowded New York streets. Part of him wished that A-Train had struck him instead of Robin. She had fight in her. She would have found a way. She always did. She was stubborn and vicious in her pursuit of what she believed was right. She would have been able to do this. To find a way to fix things, to make them right, beyond accepting a check that tried to quantify her worth.

What was Hughie except a meek nobody who didn’t even have the support of his father to help him through this nightmare?

Beer wouldn’t fix things, especially at ten in the morning, but it would give him something, something to fill his chest where courage was meant to be. 

He didn’t even recognize the area where he was now, but New York had a bodega on every street and beer there was cheap and easier to acquire than when he was a teenager. He froze when he stared at the blue packaging of Speeding Bullet Ale. A-Train’s face plastered all over it, the same way it covered dozens of products in the small Bodega. 

Frosted A-Trains, A-Train branded Red Bulls, A-Train Trojans, celebrity and gossip rags with his face splashed across them, cigarette lighters, fidget spinners, five hour energy, all packaged in that burning shade of blue that made tears gather at the corners of his eyes, unwarranted and unwanted. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” The cashier asked, staring at him with a concerned gaze. His mouth moved even more and Hughie couldn’t hear him, couldn’t stand it, couldn’t breathe.

He turned and left the bodega, stumbling onto the street, shaking as his legs forced him to make his way through the back alleys until he just fell to his knees, vomiting until his throat burned and stomach ached, his fingers trembling as he clutched at the rough brick of the wall. 

Hughie panted, staring at the graffiti covered wall, his pale hands cutting through the mess of color. “Fuck, fuck… Fuck this.” He choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t do this. His dad was right. He didn’t have any fight left in him. There were ATMs everywhere, dozens of banks, and he had never reached his withdrawal limit on his card before so he didn’t know how much it was. The first ATM coughed up a grand. Then the next another grand. Then another. He stuffed fifteen thousand of savings into his wallet and then made his way wandering through the streets. 

New York was a nightmare, no matter how many supes roamed around, and crime was easy to track down. Wandering around in and out of clubs, restaurants, shops, until he came across low, furtive voices, talking quickly and quietly in something that wasn’t English, he froze, staring wearily at the four men.

“I need a gun.” He said, quietly at first, waiting for the men to notice him. When they did he opened his wallet and fumbled out cash. “I need a gun.” He repeated louder, holding out a thousand dollars to one of the men. 

The group spoke Arabic, he was sure it was Arabic, and then one of them grinned and gestured for Hughie to follow him. If they robbed him and killed him then the work would be done, so he easily followed them, prepared for anything that they wanted to do to him. 

What he didn’t expect was a small, lean man with a buzzed head smoking a joint. 

“Who are you?” The man asked with a thick French accent, staring up at Hughie. Hughie was quiet for a moment, staring at the joint before he breathed deeply.

“Can I have a puff of that? And a gun?”

The man blinked at him, and passed the joint, his fingers brushing over the tips of Hughie’s as the young man took the joint and a long drag, then passed it back. 

“I have something stronger, if you would like?” The man watched Hughie, and Hughie felt himself crack just a little bit more. 

“I just want this to end,” Hughie whispered. “I just want a gun. Or you can shoot me yourself. I don’t care, I just…”

The man’s face was scarred and bruised and his eyes were wide and round, he was all muscle beneath his baggy track suit, Hughie could tell that much, but there was something soft in his eyes as he stared up at Hughie. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunny shaped PEZ dispenser and held it up to Hughie. “Here, it will make you feel better.”

Hughie held out his hand and accepted the small candy, blinking at the little FEZ stamped onto the surface rather than PEZ. 

“What’s this?”

“It will make you feel better. Does it matter?” The man tilted his head and smiled as Hughie dry swallowed the pill, breathing deeply. “It is MDMA and LSD, not cut with anything else.”

“You… Couldn’t tell me that before I took it?”

“Only a suicidal man or an idiot would take random drugs from a perfect stranger.” 

Hughie opened his mouth, then closed it. “The gun?”

“How about something different?” The man leaned against the table, gun parts scattered everywhere, and watched Hughie quietly, exhausted and in no mood for riddles or games. He just wanted quiet, darkness, rest.

“What? Like a knife? Poison gas? What?”

The man tilted his head towards a couch. “You wait right there, and then I will show you.”

Hughie stared at the couch, wondered if it was trustworthy, and then sat down on it regardless. If he was going to die then it really wouldn’t matter. 

He watched the man work, assembling guns, ripping open seemingly random packages and fishing parts out of products. After a moment he tapped out careful lines of what was definitely cocaine onto a mirror, pressing his face to the table to snort up the powder before he let out a delighted yowl and spun around in a few tight circles. 

He looked like he was half-mad with a variety of drugs in his system, but he was… Charming. Strange. 

His eyes were intense whenever they focused on Hughie, that same intensity focused on his work, and whenever he looked at Hughie, as if to check that he was still there, the younger man couldn’t help but feel a burning heat build up in his gut, his chest, behind the hinge of his jaw. 

“What is your name, ma petite?”

“Does it matter?” Hughie asked, staring at the man. “I’ll be dead tomorrow.”

Silence. “My name is Serge.”

Another silence, longer. “I’m Hughie.”

“Well then, mon petit Hughie, if you are going to die, perhaps you would like to die happy?”

Hughie laughed at that, a sudden, manic thing, staring at Serge. “Okay, you think you can help that? Think you can make me feel better?”

The man smirked and then trailed his fingers up Hughie’s chest through the worn fabric of his tee shirt and a trail of sparks was left in their wake. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced or imagined, like his skin was burning hot and freezing cold all at once. When he looked up at Serge those intense eyes caught him, deep and dark and endless, but so coal-warm that they chased away any ice in Hughie’s veins. 

He hadn’t realized how cold the world felt without Robin, without that love keeping him warm. But even this was different. Robin was a blanket, all encompassing and wonderfully soft and comforting. Serge was like sitting in front of a bonfire on a New Jersey beach. Roaring and blazing and nearly too hot, close enough to hurt, to burn, but it still felt so good. 

“There you are,” The man purred and Hughie felt himself being dragged back to reality, or what passed for it in the middle of his high. “N’es-tu pas jolie?” 

Thin lips brushed over his neck and Hughie felt the trail of the touch lingering, from his shirt collar up to his ear lobe, teeth leaving a soft bite in the skin. “Keep doing that, please.” Another bite, this time accompanied by a hard suck, and then a biting kiss to his jaw, the tender flesh of his throat. Hughie shivered and tried not to think of how good it felt. About how he had never felt attraction to men before, about how beyond his normal this was.

“Stay with me, mon petit Hughie.” A thin, dexterous hand glided over his chest, around to his side, down his ribs, along his waist, down to the front of his jeans, tugging at his belt with one hand while the fingers of the other left burning, delicious bruises in Hughie’s waist. 

“Kiss me,” Hughie whispered before he could catch himself, his tongue tripping over the words. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”

The world was faded and dark and the lights flickered, but Hughie could still see Serge’s eyes fixed on him, shadowed and hungry and Hughie wondered if his own gaze was reflected in the dark depths, or if Serge’s gaze could swallow galaxies like a black hole, erasing Hughie from existence. 

Long fingers gripped at Serge’s face, dragging over the scar cutting through the back of his head, smooth and thick in comparison to the short buzz of the man’s hair. There were words spoken in French, but they were distance and mumbled, the shape of them emblazoned into Hughie’s skin as he clutched at the man and tried to memorize the feeling of the drugs coursing through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest for what felt like the first time in weeks, the way Serge’s lips dragged carefully over his skin, stubble scratching at his own clean-shaven jaw. 

He couldn’t let this go, not when he had already lost so much. He just wanted this one last thing before he finally gave up. He deserved something good.

Hands and lips and there was movement, some of it good, some of it just mundane, his legs wheeling and spinning through empty space, like he was trying to run a race on the moon. He could feel something soft and cloud like beneath him, could feel Serge’s mouth on his, burning hot, like he was trying to swallow a charcoal briquette whole. Their clothes vanished to somewhere and Hughie gasped when he felt something slick and cool against his abdomen, his cock, his inner thighs, dizzying and strange as he writhed and twisted tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until he was certain that he might explode in a shower of sparks and stardust and burnt debris from the feeling. 

Hughie sat bolt upright at the sound of a fist pounding on the door, his heart hammering in time with the rapid knocks. 

“Wake up call!” A chipper woman’s voice called through the door and Hughie glanced around, staring at the clean, sterile walls of the hotel room. It was a nice room, the bed felt heavenly, and as Hughie listened to footsteps going down the hall he relaxed back into the pile of pillows and looked around. His clothing was on the floor, his wallet and phone on the dresser, and a Hello Kitty PEZ dispenser stood proudly beside his valuables. 

“What the hell…” He whispered, blinking at the item before he grabbed it and flicked one of the candies out. 

FEZ, not PEZ.

Hughie leaned back and stared at the ceiling, lifting the blankets over his body to stare at the bruises scattered across his skin. “Fuck…” He grabbed his phone and checked the time, staring at half a dozen texts from Gary. “Fuck!”

In less than an hour he was at Bryman, tugging on his work shirt and lanyard.

“Hey, Hughie, you okay?” Gary stared at him worriedly, and part of Hughie felt bad for leaving the man high and dry, the other part of him was sure the concern was due to the fact that Gary hated closing up shop and just wanted to make sure he had an employee to pawn the job off onto.

“Yeah, sorry, Gary,” Hughie gave a weak smile, trying to plaster on his customer service face when inside he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep off every ugly emotion he was feeling. “They, um… They were setting up Robin’s headstone today.” He stared at Gary and felt bad using his girlfriend for the lie, but only for a moment. “I just got back from it.”

“Sorry, man,” Gary gave a sympathetic look and clapped Hughie on the shoulder. “Work will help keep your mind off of things.”

Hughie nodded and cleared his throat. “Thanks.” It was all he could manage.

He grabbed a spray bottle and a microfibre cloth and started cleaning the TVs, the monitors, the phone, tablet, and laptop screens, trying to find some comfort in the monotony of it all. 

Less than an hour later Gary was gone and Hughie let his shoulders slump as he stared blankly at the TV showing a rerun of Gilligan’s Island. He watched for a few moments before he flicked the channel to change it to a late night show, stopping on Jimmy Fallon interviewing Transluscent.

Fallon smiled at the supe, “So tell us, how are you able to-to vanish?” 

Transluscent nodded his head and held up his hand. “No, I don't actually vanish. My skin turns into this carbon meta-material that bends the light.” The hand turned invisible and the audience gave sounds of approval at the sight. “Like an invisibility cloak.”

“All right, but just to be clear,” Fallon grinned. “You have to be completely naked, right?” laughter errupted from the audience and Transluscent nodded as he grinned in confirmation. “I appreciate you coming on the show, my man. I love you. You guys stay tuned for a behind-the-scenes look at Invisible Force 2, and later, Translucent himself-”

Hughie looked up when the door opened and man walked directly over to the security cameras display, picking up an adorable looking teddy bear nanny cam. “You interested in a nanny cam?” Hughie asked as he approached the man’s back. “'Cause we're actually running a special on that. Um, it's a pretty popular bear. There's cameras in the eyes.”

“Tell me,” The man’s voice had a thick British accent and he certainly didn’t sound like the sort of person who had a kid when he asked, “How many nannies shake their babies?” 

“Uh, I'm sorry?” Hughie blinked, concerned at the line of questioning that was developing, worried that he might end up killed by a random New York weirdo. 

“You know, a good... hard shake, like...” He gave the bear a vicious shake with one hand. “Like tryin' to get ketchup out of a bottle.” He was just as terrifying as Hughie had imagined with his dark beard and scarred face with a gleam in his eye that said he was about as stable as a suspension bridge held up by a single cable. “One percent? Less?”


	2. T.N.T. by AC/DC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re one of us now, Butcher and I.” Serge stared at Hughie and for a brief moment he looked sad. “There is no escaping this now. You’ve proven useful to him and his cause against supes.”

“You’ll love this guy.”

Hughie wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but seeing Serge shirtless, listening to blasting French rap and groping the waist of the dark haired woman that had answered the door and let them in was not what he was expecting.

“Oi, Frenchie!”

“Monsieur Charcuter… Huh.” Serge’s dark eyes flickered to Hughie as he scratched his head, glancing back to Butcher. “This is a surprise. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, mate.” Butcher smiled and Hughie couldn’t stop staring at Serge, at the sight of his lean body, his boxers and jeans slung low on his hips and Hughie tried to force his gaze back up to a reasonable height. 

He tried to think about the guns on the table, the drugs clearly scattered everywhere, the woman giving him a rather threatening stare. He tried desperately not to think of the taste of Serge’s skin, metallic and dusted with sweat and the faintest taste of cocaine on his upper lip.

“Means you brought that 40,000 you owe me?” Serge stared at Butcher, and Hughie couldn’t help but feel relieved that the man wasn’t paying attention to him. “I mean, why else would you show your face around here?”

Hughie could see the bunny PEZ dispenser poking out of Serge’s back pocket and unwanted a flash of laughter, of Hughie dragging the shorter man close by his beltloops, mouth hanging open as he let Serge kiss him, biting at his lower lip, sucking on his tongue. He thought of those dexterous fingers and ripped himself out of his haze of half-forgotten memories of the week before.

“Because I've got something even better for you. How would you like to double your money?” Butcher grinned, charming, or an attempt at charming, as he stared at Serge. 

Serge smirked and rolled his eyes slightly. “The double of zero is zero.” He glanced at Hughie and for a moment their eyes met before Serge gestured at him with the gun. “Who is he? This guy?”

Hughie tried not to feel hurt, but after a moment he couldn’t help but wonder why Serge wouldn’t want Butcher to know that they knew each other. 

“Oh, this here is Hughie Campbell,” Butcher cleared his throat. “We’re uh.. Working a little job together.”

“And he’s still alive?” Serge raised a brow.

“You and I worked together, and you’re still in one piece.”

“Am I?” Serge snapped back and Hughie couldn’t help but watch how different he was from the night they first met. There was something exhausted in his gaze at the sight of Butcher.

“Look, do you want to know what the fucking job is or not?”

* * *

Hughie watched Serge go around the hardware store with the cart, his feet resting on the bar of the undercarriage, tilting the cart dangerously as he glided down the aisles, barking orders to Butcher to grab this, that, or the other thing. Hughie grabbed several packages of RF shielding as they walked past it and a few rolls of duct tape for good measure. It would fuck them over royally if they got found out because there wasn’t enough duct tape and sheilding to cover… Wherever they were going. They went to the self checkout and Hughie glanced at the two men, watching Serge peel a few hundred dollar bills out to feed into the machine. 

He looked nervous, and Hughie wondered how much of that was the prospect of The Seven turning them all into smears on the pavement, and how much of it was the fact that Butcher was there looming over their shoulders.

Of all places they showed up at an abandoned Tony Cicero’s that was clearly left in the middle of a rennovation, power tools covered in dust left behind.

“Who’s place is this?” Hughie asked as they unpacked their purchases and hauled it through the building to the defunct walk in freezer. 

“One of mine,” Serge provided. “It always helps to have one or two extra places that could be legitimate businesses.” For a brief moment the man smiled and Hughie felt his heart clench at the sight, at how his mind flickered back to the memory of looking up at that smile while Serge straddled his hips and rocked against his cock as Hughie laid back on the plush surface of the hotel bed. “I’m turning this place into a Fogo de Chao.”

“Like… For real?”

“Yes,” Serge grinned at him as he finished welding the rebar together, Butcher coming in with more of the metal carrying cases that Serge had loaded into his big black van. Serge’s smile dropped from his face and Hughie grabbed some more RF shielding to tape onto the ceiling of the large walk-in freezer. “That stuff really blocks the chip’s signal?”

“Yeah, it’s just RF shielding foil,” Hughie placed another strip of tape on the seams. “You can get it at Fry’s too.”

Serge looked at him curiously. “You’re in tech intelligence?”

“Uh… Sales and installation,” Hughie had felt cool for a little bit with Serge looking at him like he had a job half as cool as Butcher and Serge’s own. “That sounds lame, sorry.”

“Oh, what the fuck?” Translucent groaned as he came to and Hughie jumped down from the step stool he was standing on, trying to leave the room as calmly as possible while Butcher and Serge finished up electrifying the cage.

Butcher left and Serge started to work on something in the kitchen, so Hughie went to the bar area to try and clear his head.

He managed to hunt down a glass, staring at the picture of Homelander stamped onto the outside, faded and chipped from time. It was one of those stupid glasses given out with McDonalds meals that cost more than ten bucks, when Hughie had been a kid he had collected them like mad, he still had the full seven-piece set. It felt strange knowing that Serge ate McDonalds and had kept one of these cheap little glasses at his safehouse for… Whatever nefarious purposes. 

Or maybe he just needed something for hydration.

Hughie’s phone went off and he took a long drink as he stared at the screen with twenty-seven missed calls from his father, the photo lockscreen of him and Robin boring into Hughie’s soul. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What sort of person was he that he could lose his girlfriend and a month later just… Fuck a guy? He’d never done anything like that.

But then again he’d never electrocuted then plotted the murder of one of the biggest celebrities in the world. Hughie called back one of his dad’s calls, and when his dad answered he braced himself.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad.”

Hugh Sr sounded relieved at the sound of his voice. “Hughie, where have you been? I’ve been calling hospitals!”

“I’m fine,” Hughie felt some measure of comfort, but he also felt a quiet resentment that he couldn’t put his finger on.

“But the police are saying some wacko drove into Gary’s store!” Hugh Sr sounded absolutely frantic and Hughie could imagine him pacing the living room. “Right through the window then he just took off! I thought maybe you’ve been hurt or-or kidnapped.” Hughie clutched as his phone as he listened to his dad work himself into a lather. “I saw this Dateline on human trafficking-”

“Dad, I haven’t been human trafficked, okay?” Hughie tried not to think that that was a lie. He was certain that now that he’d involved himself with Butcher that he wouldn’t be able to leave so easily. After all, Butcher had hunted down Serge after… How many years? “I closed up early, it must have happened after I left.”

“But where’d you go?” Hugh Sr asked, sounding even more frantic.

“Just been drinking at Anthony’s,” Hughie bit his lip as he thought of Serge’s dexterous hands on his hips, holding him close. “Blowing off steam.”

“No,” Hugh Sr tried to sound stern, but it only came out as worried. “I called Anthony, all right? I called everybody, no one’s seen you so don’t lie to me!”

Hughie glanced up as Butcher came in, carrying the biggest gun that Hughie had ever seen, his throat clenching in fear as the man hefted it and stared. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to explain.” Butcher left the room and Hughie swallowed. “Hey, Dad, listen I gotta… I gotta go.”

“Just listen,” His dad’s voice shuddered. “I know you’ve been taking Robin’s accident real hard-”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Hughie snapped.

“Alright, alright, my point is…” Hugh Sr took a deep breath. “Y-you’re a good boy.” Hughie felt so small in that moment, listening to his father. “You’re a sensitive boy. Come home, okay? Before you do something stupid, come home, Hughie.”

Hughie thought of going home, watching Remington Steele and Gilligan’s Island and C-Span and took a deep breath. “I got to go.”

“No, w-wait, Hughie-” He hung up and crept towards the kitchen where Serge and Butcher were working. 

He watched as Serge grabbed a tab of something with A-Train’s symbol on it and placed it on his tongue. 

Speed, probably, that made the most sense. He was a flurry of movement, never sitting still, working with an enormous bullet and a cocktail of chemicals. Hughie tried not to think about how he still had gaps in his memory of the night they had spent together, how he knew only a fraction of what those strong, clever fingers had done to him. Watching Serge work was a sight to behold and it made him shiver, made him think of half-remembered moments of sly digits sliding up his inner thigh, wrapping around his cock, stroking him as Serge’s mouth curled quiet words into his neck, his collarbone, his chest.

“Rounds coated in the same carbon metamaterial as his skin.” Serge smirked as he held up the bullet and Hughie stood at attention at that, straightening as he watched the bullet be passed over to Butcher.

“Will it work?”

“Je ne sais pas.” Serge shrugged as he watched Butcher load the round.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Hughie straightened as Butcher held the enormous gun up to his shoulder. “Wait! No, no, no! Wait, wait!” The door was opened the gun was fired and Hughie ducked, using the side of the freezer as a shield as the bullet ricocheted wildly.

Translucent’s voice cackled from within the cage. “You stupid motherfuckers! I’m fucking Translucent! I’m indestructible! It’s only a matter of time before they come for me, you’re fucking dead!”

Butcher slammed the door closed and Hughie stood with his hands on his hips, feeling like a disapproving mother as he glared at the two men who were older than him and should know better than him. 

“Well, that was great, guys.” He glared at the two of them. “That was awesome.”

Butcher was silent for a long moment, staring into some middle distance as he pressed his hands to a countertop and Hughie could see the cogs turning in his brain before he straightened and grabbed his black coat, pulling it on. 

“Frenchie, back later.” He said simply.

“Where are you going?” Serge asked, startled.

“Got an idea, long shot, but might help.”

“Now?” Hughie asked incredulously, feeling his heart clench at the idea of being left alone with the Frenchman for the first time since he had been sucked into Butcher’s weird world.

“Yeah, well it’s all under control here, isn’t it?” Butcher began to walk away. “Try not to bugger each other.”

* * *

Serge wrung his fingers for a moment before he cleared his throat. “So… Petit Hughie… How do you know Butcher?”

Hughie glanced down at Serge and tried not to feel awkward as he cleared his throat. “I, um… I actually met him after we… You know… I don’t even know how he found me, but he promised me that…”

It felt cruel to talk about Robin to the man, but he had a right to know. He was trying to help Butcher, who was trying to help him.

“I’m the guy who… Who’s girlfriend got blown to pieces by A-Train.”

He didn’t know what he expected Serge’s face to do, but the quiet sympathy was not it. He expected anger, resentment at being what was essentially a rebound. 

“I am sorry… I understand.”

Hughie quietly wondered if he really did. “Thank you for… For the other night.”

“It is nothing. Everyone needs comfort, warmth.” Serge didn’t look at him as he said that, using his bunny PEZ dispenser to pop a pill of his MDMA directly into his mouth. 

“You… You saved me.” Hughie stared at Serge and after a moment he stepped closer, hesitantly reaching out to the man’s shoulder before he drew his hand back without making contact. “You didn’t have to give me anything, didn’t have to just… You could ahve taken the money and sold me a gun and that was it.”

“You did not look like a killer,” Serge said simply, looking up at him. “Murder… Suicide… They are the same thing.”

Hughie nodded quietly, even if he didn’t quite follow the man’s line of reasoning. “You were… You were the first person since everything happened that… That I felt good being around. That sounds stupid, and I probably am-”

“You are not,” Serge looked up at him and Hughie flushed at those intense eyes fixed on him.

“I feel like I am, but that’s besides the point.” He reached out carefully and this time his hand was intercepted, Serge’s own fingers gripping his, drawing them to his mouth to kiss the digits. “You saved me. More than any supe ever could.”

Serge blinked up at him with wide, startled eyes before he carefully covered the expression, leaning close to steal a kiss from Hughie, his hand gripping at Hughie’s unruly hair. “If you ever feel like that again?” Serge’s thin lips spoke directly into Hughie’s mouth and Hughie let out a soft sigh into the man’s own mouth. “You come to me.”

Hughie smiled into the kiss and after a moment they parted, staring at one another quietly, taking in one another. Hughie hoped that Serge liked what he saw. “So… What are you exactly?” He asked, breaking the silence with his curiosity. “Chemist? Engineer? What?”

“I know a little about a lot of things,” Serge sat on the edge of the counter and Hughie moved to stand between his knees as Serge rolled a joint carefully, expertly, lighting it within seconds. “But, ah, as you can see, I’ve developed a certain niche.”

“Killing superheroes?” Hughie didn’t quite know what to think of that. It was morbid, awful, and he had spent his whole life being a fan of superheroes, but now… He could see the appeal. Their calloused disregard for the very people they were supposed to save had tainted his vision of them. 

“Non, you can count on one hand the number of dead superheroes,” Serge shook his head and blew smoke out of his nostrils. “Sometimes you can, uh, incapacitate them… Truly, they are magnificent creatures, each one with a unique power that requires a unique solution that is never the same twice.”

Hughie breathed in the scent of weed, sweat, and Serge’s skin, the faint smell of a cologne that was days old, a warm, comforting smell, distinctly masculine. Hughie had never been attracted to men, had never even considered them to be a viable option for romantic or sexual encounters. Somehow, though, Serge had managed to ignite something new in him. 

“So… Who pays you to do that?” He tried to distract himself, even as he stood between Serge’s thighs, their hips all but lined up, inches away from one another. 

One of Serge’s hands gripped at his waist and the man shrugged, holding his joint between two fingers of his free hand, taking a long drag from it. “Whoever can pay.” It was a simple answer to a simple question and Hughie worried his inner cheek between his molars, feeling blood seep into his mouth.

“And when you do kill a supe… or… You know, anyone… Um…” Hughie stared at Serge. “What’s it like?”

Serge stared at him for a moment before he put his feet up on the counter, trapping Hughie where he was. It didn’t feel like a trap, though, and Hughie didn’t move more than to just rest his hands upon Serge’s knees. “You know... I saw this woman once, in a midtown elevator, 2008. No more for ten seconds, I see her, huh? Stunning. Five-nine. Hair so black it absorbed the light, you know? Tom Ford pencil skirt, Louboutin stilettos.” He smiled, gave a small laugh as he took a drag from his joint. “C'est magnifique. But she had, uh... she had... I never forget this, you see...” He looked down at his fingers holding the tightly wrapped joint, worrying his lip for a brief moment. “She had dirt under her fingernails and callouses on her hands, and I see this and I say, "Oh, strange for such a refined woman like this." What, you... You a gardener? You know, are you a sculptor? What is this, huh?” He gave a small laugh and cleared his throat, looking up at Hughie. “And I think about this... I think about her all the time. She was the first person I ever killed. I carry... I carry them all with me. It's like scars in a way, you know?”

Hughie nodded, looking down at Serge, and after a moment of long silence whispered, “Do you ever think of doing anything else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…” Hughie shrugged. “Just… lead a normal life?”

Serge gave a soft laugh and shook his head. “There is no normal for people like us, petit Hughie.”

“Like us?” Hughie felt his chest clench at the thought, at the implication, and Serge rested a palm on his waist while he stubbed out the burnt remnants of the joint. 

“You’re one of us now, Butcher and I.” Serge stared at Hughie and for a brief moment he looked sad. “There is no escaping this now. You’ve proven useful to him and his cause against supes.”

Hughie stared at Serge and whispered. “I wanted to kill A-Train… I’ve… I wanted to kill myself, I’ve always wanted that, but Robin kept me from following through. And now… I hate someone more than I hate myself. It doesn’t matter if I die because of this.” He cleared his throat and stared at Serge’s dark eyes. “All that matters is that I take A-Train down with me.”

Serge cupped Hughie’s jaw for a moment, and it looked like he was going to say something, before he leaned in and kissed Hughie to cover up the words gathered behind his lips, pressing their meaning into Hughie’s mouth.

Robin was gone. But Serge’s kiss was an invitation to lean on him, to be distracted from the horror and pain and mental anguish filling his skull like a hurricane. It was enough. Hughie opened his mouth, tasting Serge’s tongue and lips like he might starve if he didn’t swallow down the man’s low puffs of breath and moans.

Hughie was not one for one night stands, but this… This felt good. It was comforting to feel Serge’s strong hands on his waist, his hips, inching up his chest, counting ribs carefully. Hughie shivered and broke the kiss.

“Ah, désolé-” Serge murmured, only for Hughie to stop him as he ripped the man’s shirt off of his torso, casting it aside to stare at scars and warm skin and dark hair. Serge licked his lips and snuck his hand between their bodies as Hughie began to touch, explore, kissing at Serge’s skin. 

“This is fucked up.” Hughie murmured, thinking of how morbid the entire situation was, the way he wanted this even after talking about death, murder, suicide. “This is really fucked up.”

“It’s okay,” Serge murmured, kissing at Hughie’s neck and jaw, his hand managing to undo Hughie’s belt, then the fastenings of his jeans. “It’s okay.”

Serge slid off of the countertop and Hughie stepped back, the sudden change in heights making him lean down to try and keep his mouth fixed on Serge’s. Serge pinned him against the opposite countertop, their bodies pressed close merely because of how narrow the space was between the two counters. Clever fingers stroked at Hughie’s cock, pushing his pants and underwear down. 

Hughie jumped when a finger pressed against his ass, making him shiver and his legs spread instinctively. Serge’s tongue licked into Hughie’s mouth, desperate and hungry as he panted and softly growled out what Hughie was almost certain was a stream of filth in French.

Serge tried to work his finger into Hughie, making him jump and buck his hips against the hand wrapped around his cock. “Fuck, Serge, there’s no way you’re fucking me without lube.”

That made the man freeze and Hughie wondered, briefly, if he had crossed some weird unseen line with Serge, had said the wrong thing when Serge’s lips froze against his. The shorter man pulled away, his hands scrabbling through the pile of weapons and tools on the enormous island workspace and grabbed the electric cattle prod that Butcher had used to keep Translucent in line previously. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, what the fuck?” Hughie flinched back, fear roiling up into his chest, bubbling over into his voice. 

Serge turned to him, smiling brightly, his eyes wide and round and eager to finish the puzzle he had been struggling to solve, “I need him unconscious! I figured it out!”


	3. Cherry Pie by Warrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbidden a thought of Robin flicked through his mind, the two of them squeezed into the shower at his father’s apartment, the way she had smiled and pressed her chest to his own, her full lips tracing the tendons of his neck. Hughie stiffened and tried not to focus on the thought, tried to focus on the feeling of Serge’s wiry shoulders, of his flat chest, dusted with dark hair.

Hughie scrubbed at his hair as much as he could without any real soap or shampoo. The entirety of the kitchen was covered in a smattering of Translucent.

What was left of him anyway. 

Hughie tried not to think about it.

Butcher and Serge were quietly cleaning up everything without complaint or comment. When Hughie stripped out of his shirt and used it to wipe off streams of runny water-logged blood from his body Serge approached him with a chef’s shirt that was several sizes too big for him, smiling as he accepted the tee shirt with a soft, “I’ll take this, merci.”

Hughie watched as his Ramones shirt went up in flames and Butcher gave him what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile but ended up looking more pitying than anything. Hughie tried not to think of Serge’s hand prying the detonator out of his own fingers, about the scream that was lodged in his throat, just below his Adam’s apple. 

He stared at the ceiling and cleared his throat. “Sorry about all the…”

“Oh, don't be stupid. You did us a favor.” Butcher smiled at him, and Hughie felt sick.

“What are we gonna do with him?” He asked softly, trying to keep his throat from closing off and opening in a scream all at once.

“We'll take care of it,” Butcher clearly wanted to keep Hughie from panicking futher, and Hughie tried to follow that silent direction.

“The-the, uh, tracking chip-”

“Already disabled,” Serge looked up at Hughie and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down and relax, petit Hughie.”

Hughie couldn’t sit. Not in the room still spattered with Translucent and blood and insides. He moved towards the door out of the kitchen, only for Butcher to call after him.

“Oi, where you think you're going?”

Where was he going? Hughie looked at Butcher, at Serge, and whispered, “I'm going home. I need clothes.”

“We'll get you clothes,” Butcher frowned slightly.

“I want my clothes,” Hughie tried to be understanding, but taking a life was one thing. Taking a life so violently was another. “I'll be right back.”

Serge reached out for him briefly, then pulled back, as if worried his touch might send Hughie spiraling. He was probably right. “You are, perhaps... in a state of shock, mon ami.”

Hughie glanced away from Serge and Butcher leaned against the shovel he had been using to scrape Translucent off the floor. “Hughie, you just arse-bombed America's sweetheart.” He shook his head. “You can't just piss off.”

Hughie was quiet, then took a deep breath. “I need to go home.” He needed to say goodbye to his father at the very least. He would probably never get to see him again.

“All right,” Butcher glanced at Serge. “Frenchie will go with you.”

“Wait, what?” Hughie couldn’t stand the thought of driving in the same car as Serge at the moment, not when he was on the verge of crumbling, exploding all over the room just like Translucent. “No.” He shook his head slightly and Butcher turned to fully face him.

“Either he goes with you, or I break your legs.” Hughie swallowed and glanced away. “Good lad.”

He climbed up the stairs to the parking lot and Serge followed a moment later.

They climbed into Serge’s black van, some of his tools that could be saved already packed up inside. All of his chemicals, unfortunately, had been sacrificed to the mess of blood and horror in the restaurant’s kitchen. 

The two of them were quiet for about half of the journey before Hughie blinked and looked over at Serge. 

“How do you know where I live?”

Serge smiled at him. “Your driver’s license.”

Hughie stared at the man as his eyes turned back to the road. “Our first night together. After you passed out, I went through your wallet, looked you up. You were… Quite difficult to find information about. Driver’s license, no passport, no criminal record, not even a hospital record. You even had perfect attendance in school. If I did not know better, I would have thought you were a spook.”

“Nope,” Hughie cleared his throat. “Just boring.”

“Non, not boring,” Serge smiled over at him. “What sort of man is boring and takes MDMA cut with LSD for the first time without hesitation?”

Hughie gave a small laugh. “I’m not… Normally like that.” Hughie rubbed at the back of his neck, freezing when his hand came away tinted red. “Um, I… Robin had to ask me out… She had been flirting with me for five years and I had no idea.”

Serge smiled and Hughie stared at his profile, taking in the line of his nose, his narrow face, the way his eyes took in so many different things as he maneuvered through New York’s sardine-like traffic. 

“You were a gentleman,” Serge tried to suggest.

“I was stupid,” Hughie cleared his throat. “I live with my dad. I’ve worked at the same store since high school. That’s ten years. I never went to college. Now I probably never will. I get the feeling that Butcher doesn’t offer a very forgiving work schedule.”

Serge was quiet for a long moment, and when they pulled up to the outside of Hughie’s apartment building there was silence for a long moment, the two of them sitting together before Hughie climbed out of the vehicle and Serge followed. 

Three flights of stairs and then they were in the hallway right before the Campbell apartment. He paused, thinking of what his father would say to the sight of Serge helping Hughie pack shirts and underwear, and turned to the shorter man. “Just… Wait here, okay?”

Serge stared at him for a moment, worriedly, then nodded and leaned against the wall opposite the apartment door. “Be quick?”

“I will.” Hughie nodded, staring at Serge for a moment before he stepped forward, stealing a quick kiss, barely a few seconds long, to try and steel himself for the task at hand. 

His room was untouched from the last few days he had been away and Hughie quickly moved to his dresser, grabbing a duffle bag on the way. He hesitated when he reached to open the drawers, staring at the small Funko of A-Train. One of Robin’s gifts, given to him randomly because she knew that he loved A-Train. Most of the merch had been packed away after Robin’s death, Hugh sr taking the time to pack away the more expensive items just in case Hughie wanted to sell them when he could bear to look at them again. 

Hughie cradled the small toy in his hand, thought of Robin laughing and commenting on his “weird man-crush on A-Train”. 

Before Hughie could stop himself, could consider what he was about to do, he threw the figure into the shelves on the opposite side of his room.

Another item, one of those stupid McDonalds glasses with Homelander’s image stamped onto it, was snatched from the dresser and thrown at the wall. A small figure of Homelander was launched next, a clear plastic model of Translucent, each impack rattling his bones and making him angrier and angrier. Heroes didn’t exist, they were monsters just like anyone else. Hughie raced over to the shelves and starts to sweep his hands over the surface, causing knick knacks and items to scatter. He slammed a broken shelve into his desk, entirely silent, snarling as he panted heavily.

He froze when he saw the shattered frame of a picture of him and Robin. His father had taken it the day they went on their first date, bowling and nachos, and Hughie had been so embarrassed, but also… It was a happy memory, untainted.

Hughie sniffled as he stared at the photo, picking the glass away and cradling the lightly scratched surface of the photo. He looked up when he heard footsteps, he rubbed at his nose briefly, staring up at his father as the man carefully inched his way into the bedroom, eyes wide and mouth gaping in confusion.

“Hughie?”

Hughie sniffled and tried to clear his throat, “Oh, hey, Dad.”

“Wh... look at the - you-you've, this is...” Hugh Sr stared at Hughie’s room.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry about this. I just,” Hughie cleared his throat and stood, moving towards his dresser, feeling more broken down than he had ever since the ambulance came to wrap a shock blanket around his shoulders and pry Robin’s arms out of his hands. “I've been meaning to clean up the Supe stuff for a while now, so...” 

Hugh Sr watched as Hughie carefully pulled out a stack of folded clothes and slid them into his duffle bag. “What, are you going somewhere?”

Hughie couldn’t look at him, “Yeah. For a while.”

“Where?” Hugh Sr’s voice cracked and Hughie thought of how his mother had left, had just packed up one day and left them.

“Uh, I don't know.” He didn’t, it was true. When would Butcher let him go, when would it be safe to go… Only time would tell and even then… Apparently Butcher had come back to Serge after five years of silence.

“Well, now, you're scaring me, Hugh.” Hughie looked at his father and felt exhausted, felt like the world just couldn’t be made right like it used to. “All right, now, I-I spoke to Dr. Feldman...” 

Hughie blinked in confusion, “My pediatrician?”

“He's still your doctor.” Hugh Sr insisted, staring at Hughie worriedly. “And he's given me the name of someone you can-you can talk to.” He gave a helpless gesture to the room. “Help you, you know, get back to normal.”

That made Hughie snap as he zipped the dufflebag shut, refusing to look at his father. “There's no normal anymore.”

“What do you mean, there's... Look. We've always been very open with each other, right? We-We've always told each other everything. Talk to me.”

“Stop it.” Hughie turned and straightened, staring at Hugh Sr who took a half step back at the sight of his furiously shaking son.

“What do you mean, stop it?” Hugh Sr asked, and the genuine confusion in his voice only made Hughie even more angry.

“Stop it.” His voice cracked and he could feel tears in his eyes as his fist clenched around the strap of his bag. “I have never told you everything. I have never told you how much I hate sitting on that couch, staring at the TV like we're already dead. How much I fucking hate Pizza Rolls.”

“No, you love Pizza Rolls.” Hugh Sr pointed at Hughie, and it was such a stupid thing to be angry over, to snap over, to fixate on in an attempt to put the world back to rights.

“When I was seven!” Hughie shouted, and his chest hurt at the pain in his father’s eyes, the way the man flinched back from him. “I am not seven.” His voice wavered and Hughie stepped around the mess of his room, past his father before he hesitated and whispered. “I'm sorry.”

He stepped into the hallway and Serge stared at him, concerned and quiet for a long moment before he gave a soft sigh through his nose. “My father was bipolar.” Hughie blinked at him, confused, and Serge took that as an indication to continue. “One night, when I was ten, he tried to smother me with a Hello Kitty duvet.”

With that the shorter man turned and led Hughie down the hallway, back to the van. They got into the van and Hughie clutched his duffle to his chest while Serge checked his phone. 

“Monsieur Charcuter,” Serge held up the phone to his ear and Hughie heard the low drone of the man’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words. “Oui… Fine. We will see you soon.” Serge hung up and tucked his phone into his pocket. “Butcher is still working on some things, we meet him tomorrow at Popclaw’s apartment.”

“Tomorrow?” Hughie asked, looking at Serge quietly before he cleared his throat. “I… Um… Can I stay at your place? Or… I guess not, you blew it up… I’m sorry about that.”

“Necessary evils,” Serge smiled at Hughie. “It is fine, I have many places. The restaurant, the factory, yes, but there are plenty of other places.” He turned over the engine of the car and threw it into drive. “Let’s get you cleaned up, petit Hughie.”

Hughie didn’t have it in him to argue as he sat, waiting for their destination. 

The building they came up to was an apartment building. It wasn’t a very nice area, but it was clearly filled with middle-class people if the number of Corollas and Focuses in the parking lot was any indication. Serge drove into the covered garage and stepped out of the car to unlock a small storage area, draping the chain and padlock over his shoulders as he pushed the chain-link gate open.

“Ah, you will probably want to get out,” Serge gestured to the tight squeeze and Hughie slid out of the van, watching Serge park, lock the van, and then draw the chainlink closed to lock that as well. 

The two of them made it up to Serge’s apartment in silence and Hughie wasn’t sure what he was expecting…

But an enormous French flag decorated with a plethora of iron on patches draped over the doorway was not what he expected. There were a few weapons scattered all over the place, some drug paraphernalia, and piles of clothing all over the floor and furniture, but it felt… Warm. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, bright and cheerful, and Hughie glanced around the apartment, taking in the posters on the wall, the CDs and pillows and blankets with wild, crass patterns all over them. 

“The bathroom is in here,” Serge gestured and Hughie peered around the doorway. 

The bedroom was an equal state of disaster. All except for the bed. It was a sole neat aspect in the entire house, pillows perfectly fluffed, the duvet spotless and clean, perfect hospital corners. The bathroom was connected and Hughie walked past the bed to the bathroom. There was a bottle of 3-in-one shampoo, a single toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste that was pretty much empty.

“Ah, here,” Serge knelt down and collected a fresh tube and a new toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet. Hughie couldn’t see everything inside, but he could see that it was stuffed full of products, some of which he was pretty sure didn’t belong in a bathroom. “I am going to make some food, would you like something?”

“Um… Just coffee, please,” Hughie gave Serge an apologetic look. “I’m not feeling very hungry after… Um…”

“I understand,” Serge nodded, staring at Hughie, the two of them frozen in place. 

It didn’t take much for Hughie to crack first, stepping into Serge’s space, ducking down to kiss him, soft and light and chaste, a quiet thank you.

Serge kissed him back, his hands cradling Hughie’s jaw, drawing him down forcefully. There wasn’t any will to pull back, not when there was warmth and comfort being offered, slowing his heart rate. When the two of them parted for breath Serge reached into the shower to turn it on. 

“You should shower, petit Hughie,” Serge murmured, and Hughie refused to let him go, knowing that the man could probably break his arm if he truly wanted to escape. 

“Shower with me?”

Serge smiled. “Of course.”

Stripped out of their clothing, Hughie realized how vile he probably smelled with sweat and adrenaline and blood clinging to his skin. He soaped himself up with his bare hands, scrubbing at his hair, his face, his under arms and groin to try and feel clean again, watching Serge do the same on the other side of the cramped little shower. When Hughie caught the man’s eyes with his own Serge smirked up at him.

“I need to rinse off.”

Hughie dragged the man close, letting the water flow over both of their bodies as their mouths connected in a bruising kiss. 

Serge was not unfamiliar with Hughie’s body, he was handsy at the best of moments, even with Butcher, and Hughie had felt the man’s fingers glide and press and grope at what felt like every inch of him in the last couple of days. This was different, it wasn’t careless, it was like the man had a mission to feel every inch of Hughie’s soap-slicked frame.

Unbidden a thought of Robin flicked through his mind, the two of them squeezed into the shower at his father’s apartment, the way she had smiled and pressed her chest to his own, her full lips tracing the tendons of his neck. Hughie stiffened and tried not to focus on the thought, tried to focus on the feeling of Serge’s wiry shoulders, of his flat chest, dusted with dark hair. After a moment where thoughts of Robin spin and whirled and tickled the inside of his skull like an explosion of feathers, he knelt down, his legs folded awkwardly for a moment in the too-small shower before he leaned back against the shower wall and tilted his head back to look up at Serge. 

Serge stepped forward, letting Hughie’s knees rest against the opposite wall of the shower as he crowded up close to Hughie, his feet on either side of Hughie’s hips. 

Hughie had never sucked dick before. Hadn’t even explored anything remotely close in the bedroom with Robin who was absolutely more adventurous in the bedroom. But Serge’s hands were firm and guiding and Hughie was good at following directions. It didn’t take much for Serge to get hard, Hughie nuzzling his lips against the man’s cock, his eyes fixed on Serge’s face, focusing on him, on the way his dark brown gaze warmed Hughie from the inside out, putting sensation back into his numbed fingers. Hughie’s palms slid up Serge’s thighs, over his hips, gripping at the man’s waist as he parted his lips to taste soap and skin, wrapping his lips around the tip of Serge’s cock.

This was good. Different, but good, and Hughie tried to remember any of that first night they had been together, tried to think of how good he had felt and what made that happen. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” Hughie admitted after a moment and Serge gave a soft laugh. 

“Just open your mouth, relax.”

That Hughie could do. His eyes fixed on Serge and he felt the man feed his cock into his mouth, the heavy weight making Hughie moan on instinct. It was strange, new, but it wasn’t bad. He had only ever had sex with Robin, was so certain that she was it for him, the only one, but here was Serge, everything that Robin was not, and Hughie felt a need for him that made his chest light up, as if his heart was burning and pulsing like a lighthouse beacon, declaring how much he wanted Serge. 

He shivered when Serge pulled back, the man groaning and stroking himself, Hughie reaching up to grasp at the man’s cock, pushing his hand away to keep the pace, staring up at Serge as he mouthed and sucked at warm, wet skin. When he felt Serge come on his tongue he jumped and closed his lips further around the tip of Serge’s cock, trying not to make more of a mess to clean up. 

Serge groaned and rested his elbows against the wall of the shower, panting as he stared down at Hughie, guiding the younger man’s hand away. “The bed?” Serge asked, and Hughie wondered what made the man think he needed to ask permission for something so small when he clearly was used to killing people without prejudice.

“Yeah.” Hughie shivered, staring up at Serge, thinking of how they probably had plenty of time before Butcher called, and how desperately he needed this moment of warmth and connection. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

Hughie was positive he smelled like Serge’s cologne and weed, but he figured that Butcher would understand. After all, he had spent the night at Serge’s place and almost everything smelled like weed or cigarettes there.

He wasn’t expecting Mother’s Milk who looked… Absolutely terrifying towering over them, angrily shouting at Serge and Butcher, pressing Hughie against the wall easily, like Hughie weighed absolutely nothing to him. And then the man got a call from Monique and Hughie tried not to smile at that, forcing his face to stay relatively neutral. He wondered how they could do the work they did and have their families not know. How could a spouse not know. 

“Alright, let’s get the bugs sorted, see for ourselves,” Butcher said, turning to fiddle with the surveillance equipment that he had loaded into the rental. 

Hughie couldn’t help but give a confused smile to the group as he went through the box of cameras and bugs and equipment piled up in it, still in their packaging. 

“Where-Where'd you get this shit, Circuit City?” He asked Butcher, trying to sound joking but knowing he failed when Butcher gave him an offended look. 

“Right? He's a cheap bastard.” Mother’s Milk said, gesturing to Butcher.

Hughie blinked at the group, realizing with dawning clarity that of the group he was probably not only the youngest, but the only one that had any level of technical experience from a time before the early 2000s. “You… You know we don’t actually need to sneak anything in.”

“Eh?” Serge blinked at Hughie and there was a small well of pride that he had managed to surprise the group. 

“Look, all I need's her IPv6 number.” He looked up at the group. “Every desktop, every smart TV in the house has a camera on it.” He shrugged, considered how Popclaw and A-Train probably spent a lot of money on comfort and luxury. “They probably have one in every room.”

“Even in the toilet?” Serge asked with raised brows, surprised.

Hughie gave the other man a look, “No, Se-Frenchie.” He caught himself before he could say the man’s real name. “Not in the toilet. Look, I just need five minutes inside.” He reached out for his bag and pulled out his uniform from Bryman’s along with his nametag, tossing the tag to Mother’s Milk who easily caught it one handed. “I mean, home service is my specialty.”


	4. Calling Dr. Love by KISS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um, let’s go with Bisexual.” Hughie wasn’t sure if he was that anyway, Serge was an exception to every life rule and preference that Hughie had had previous to the man. “I don’t… Exactly know, you know? He’s…” Hughie thought of Serge and the edge of danger to him. It wasn’t the same as staring at Butcher, it was harder to remember that Serge was a career criminal when he was watching nature documentaries obsessively, chewing on his hoodie ties and drinking wine out of a mug that had Grumpy Cat on it. “He’s an exception.”

Hughie wasn’t the best at keeping track of every single person that he interacted with on a day to day basis. Even worse was that he had lived through his own personal hell for the last month or so, everything blurred and hazy and all he could do was react to events around him, with only his recent association with Butcher giving him any level of control over his life.

But he had a thing for faces, and when he saw Annie, dressed in Starlight’s costume, walking towards the locker room that Serge was pilfering in a desperate attempt to get their hands on some Compound V, he called out, hoping that he was right. 

“Annie? Hey, Annie!” He put his camera down and when she turned, the door to the locker room open in her hand, he moved over as fast as he could. “Annie! Hey! Annie!”

She looked at him and Hughie smiled. “Hughie?” She asked, confused. “From the bench the other day?”

“You're, uh...” Hughie felt like such an idiot for longer than he should have. “You're Starlight. That's... How did I not realize that?”

She smiled and she felt so… Down to earth… So much more normal and humble than the others. “It's actually kind of comforting that you didn't.”

“Fuckin' hell, Hughie. You know Starlight?” Butcher said in his ear and Hughie cleared his throat, nodding at Annie as she sighed.

“Well, Hughie, it was... It was really nice to see you, but I should get going.”

“No, Hughie, we need more time.” Butcher interjected and Hughie reached out hesitantly.

“Can I, uh, buy you an overpriced beer?” He asked Annie and she hesitated, looking at him with a surprised expression. “You know, if you've-you've... if you got time.”

A beat and all Hughie could think of was Serge inside the locker room and what might happen to him if he was caught by one of The Seven they were trying to take down. “Throw in some overpriced nachos?” Annie asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“Lead the way.” He smiled, gesturing to the hallway, away from the locker room door.

“Okay.”

* * *

Hughie groaned as the alarm for his shift of surveillance went off. He sighed and sat upright in the bed, blinking as he fumbled for his phone. 

Serge echoed his groan, rolling over to grab at Hughie’s phone as well, turning it off then tossing it into the bottomless sea of clothing that was scattered all over the apartment. 

“You know MM is gonna be pissed if we’re late.” Hughie managed blearily, craning his neck to look for the general landing spot of his phone while Serge pulled him backwards onto the bed. “Come on, you don’t have to get up but I do.”

It felt domestic in a weird way, but a week of surveillance had been enough for Hughie to gain some semblance of a routine with Serge. They’d eat together, watch discovery channel together, and Serge had even begun to teach Hughie bits and pieces about his various odd jobs. Inveitably they’d end up naked in bed, sometimes to have sex, other times Serge would come crashing down from a high and cuddle up to Hughie before passing out. 

Insomnia was not something new to Hughie, but with the stress from joining up with Butcher’s Bizarre Boy Band what little sleep Hughie had was stressful and interrupted. Having Serge cuddled up against him helped keep him from moving, tossing and turning and pacing, but it didn’t help make his sleep any deeper.

“You know, I could always mix up something for you,” Serge kissed over Hughie’s neck, his shoulder, his jaw, and Hughie smiled softly as he tilted his head. “For your sleep.”

“Maybe not when we gotta move at any given moment,” Hughie turned slightly, stealing a kiss from Serge before he sat up, stretching and moving to hunt down his phone and some of his own clothing. 

“You’re going to pass out one of these days.” Serge warned and Hughie nodded before he managed to hunt down a pair of jeans and pulled them on. “Has she texted you again?” Serge asked, sitting up and fumbling through his nightstand. Hughie kissed over Serge’s shoulder, watching him sort through the veritable illegal pharmacy he had in his nightstand. Serge grabbed some speed and placed a tab on his tongue, passing one to Hughie in offer. 

Hughie didn’t know exactly how bad the speed would fuck him up, but the idea of passing out while alone on his shift of surveillance, and more importantly what Butcher would do to him if he did, made him accept the tabl of speed. “Yeah, we’re… I don’t know what we’re doing. We’re friends, I guess.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “God only knows what Butcher will do if he finds out.”

“When,” Serge said, rummaging through his things to find a shirt, pulling on a yellow and white striped shirt. “When he finds out.”

“When?” Hughie worked his jaw quietly. “I’m… Um… What do you think he’ll do?”

“No idea,” Serge stretched and looked over at Hughie, the two of them standing half dressed as they observed each other. “Is it a big deal to you? Butcher’s disapproval?”

Hughie cleared his throat and looked at Serge. “That depends,” He took a deep breath, trying not to worry about what might happen when the words finally came out of his mouth, were given life in the air. 

“On what?” Serge looked equally concerned as he stared at Hughie with a deer-in-the-headlights look. 

“How serious we are,” Hughie cleared his throat. “Because, um… You and Cherie…”

“Ah, Cherie is… An exception. We have been friends for a very long time.” Serge pulled back slightly, searching for pants, and Hughie cleared his throat, finding himself one of his band shirts. 

“Look, this is fun, it really is, and I know that… I lost Robin a month ago and maybe this is a bit strong, but…”

Serge moved, capturing his lips in a firm kiss, silencing Hughie quickly. “You are right.” He whispered into Hughie’s lips. “We will be late to MM.”

* * *

“Sorry, baby, just, work's just been a motherfucker lately. You know I'd much rather be at home, rubbing on them toes than out here breaking up yard fights, but you know, a brother got to get paid, right? Oh, most definitely. Payday comes, we gonna be all up in Kay Jewelers, tearing it down. Champagne showers. I know, I know, I'm just kidding. All right, sweetheart. Talk to you.” Mother’s Milk made a kissing noise into the phone and hung up.

Hughie was in the back, Serge behind the wheel of his big black panel van, staring at Mother’s Milk. Hughie was staring at his phone, at a text from Annie asking him out on a date. 

“Say something.” Mother’s Milk sighed as he watched Serge, who watched him as he chewed on the straw of his drink. 

“Well, you know, Jean-Paul Sartre said marriage stifles our essential male urges.” Hughie’s shoulders stiffened at that and he quietly tried to keep his expression schooled. 

“Jean-Paul Sartre also died a old, lonely motherfucker.” Mother’s Milk retorted, scowling at the other man. “Not to mention his girl was shacking up with some other dude.”

“Uh, oui.” Serge tried to sound casual, but Hughie could feel the tension rolling off the other man’s shoulders right next to him. “They were free to explore.”

“Explore what? Gonorrhea?” Mother’s Milk took a drink from his own takeaway cup, looking out the windshield of the vehicle, clearly dismissive of Serge’s argument. “Come on, Frenchie. Why work so motherfucking hard if you don't have somebody to go home to and sleep next to at night?”

Serge retorted, a bit too practiced and fast, “Well, I go to sleep next to someone different every night.”

Mother’s Milk snorted. “Yeah, and that's 'cause you're an old, lonely fucker, too. And you're gonna die by yourself.”

“Mm,” Serge hummed, breathing through his nose. “Well, if you and Monique have something so pure, why are you lying to her about where you are?”

Hughie glanced up, and Mother’s Milk set his jaw, looking fixedly away from Serge, and Serge keeping his own gaze clearly out the window. 

“Noodle Guy. He's packing.” Serge whispered after a few minutes, and the three of them piled out of the van.

“About time we see something.”

* * *

Hughie knew, logically, that Serge wouldn’t care that he was on a date with Annie. Regardless of the fact that he was now a weird fucked up honey-pot for Butcher’s team, Annie was a good person. Even if she was a horrible bowler for no goddamn reason. 

“Okay. I'll come clean. If I'm being honest,” He stood and took a step towards her. “I'm a little suspicious of you.”

She blinked at him, confused, “You are?”

“Yeah. I mean, you say you bowled a lot.” He stepped closer, but still kept a reasonable distance between them. “And you know, you have, like, superpowers, yet you are a remarkably shitty bowler.” He smiled at her, trying to be reassuring as he kept his fingers in his pockets. “You know what I think is happening? I think you're holding back for some weird, "not gonna show me up on a first date" reason.” She ducked her head and he pointed at her briefly in a “gotcha” gesture. “I have a boyfriend, Annie.” Her head snapped up and he smiled. “So why don’t you quit stroking my ego and show me what you really got?”

Annie blinked at him, then smiled and turned, bowling a perfect strike with an easy grace she did not have before. 

“Holy shit. Now that's a strike!” He laughed, smiling at her. 

“Yeah.” She brushed imaginary dust off of her shoulder and Hughie laughed. She looked up at him with her perfect blonde hair and dark brown eyes and soft smile and Hughie smiled back. “So… I didn’t peg you for a guy with a boyfriend.”

“Um, excuse me, my fashion sense is impeccable, how could you not?” He gestured to his admittedly dull, two-day-old button down and his jeans that were clearly a little bit too big for his skinny legs. 

“No, no, I’m not saying… Oh shut up!”

“I know,” Hughie laughed, rubbing at his neck. “I’ve never, um… I’ve never had one before. A boyfriend. I mean I dated my previous girlfriend for… A really long time.”

“If you don’t mind my asking…” She looked at him. “Look, I did Capes for Christ and was raised Christian, I don’t have a huge friend group anyway much less any… Gay? Bisexual?”

“Um, let’s go with Bisexual.” Hughie wasn’t sure if he was that anyway, Serge was an exception to every life rule and preference that Hughie had had previous to the man. “I don’t… Exactly know, you know? He’s…” Hughie thought of Serge and the edge of danger to him. It wasn’t the same as staring at Butcher, it was harder to remember that Serge was a career criminal when he was watching nature documentaries obsessively, chewing on his hoodie ties and drinking wine out of a mug that had Grumpy Cat on it. “He’s an exception.”

“He’s a lucky guy,” Annie smiled at him and Hughie stared at her before he cleared his throat and looked down. “Or… is he?”

“He’s, um… We were talking to a… Friend earlier. And he talked about how monogamy was… Pointless. And stifling.” Annie frowned and Hughie cleared his throat, trying to redirect the conversation. “Want some fries?”

Annie was quiet for a moment and then smiled. “Sure, how about we get some drinks too?”

They got their food, talked about the benefits of curly fries versus straight cut fries, and then thick cut versus shoestring, and when they made it back to their lane silence fell between them.

“So… Why did you start dating him?” Annie asked, curious and open, no judgment in her eyes and it made Hughie feel his shoulders relax, made all of the thoughts about Serge that he had been having, worrying over, come to the surface. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s a rebound,” Hughie cleared his throat. “My girlfriend died… And I… I guess I was scared of being alone. And he was there and…” Hughie thought of Robin, could practically see her right in front of him. “His eyes are the same as hers.” He whispered. “And he’s… He’s smart, crazy smart… And just plain crazy. I never took risks and Robin, my girlfriend… She always made me take the risk, it was like pulling teeth, and Serge-”

Hughie froze as the man’s name fell from his lips.

Annie stared at him, interested and quiet, and Hughie reminded himself that she had never met Serge, and likely never would… He hoped she never would. He hoped that she didn’t become a target of Butcher. 

“Serge is everything. He’s… He saved me from myself and he didn’t even know it. He just… He just wanted to help, to do the right thing.” Hughie looked down at his hand and clenched his fist. “He always wants to do the right thing. He just… Sometimes he goes about it all wrong… But he fixes it.”

Annie looked at him worriedly and nodded. “And… You’re sure you two are on the same page? With the whole monogamy thing?”

Hughie looked at her and smiled slightly. “Not a clue. I just… I hope that he changes his mind.” It felt too real to even say that much out loud. He couldn’t say the rest, couldn’t say that he hoped that Serge took a chance on him. That he was in too deep in less than a month. That he had never done this before and had never believed in love at first sight, not even for Robin. 

This entire situation was a mistake. But Hughie wasn’t sure if he’d regret it.

* * *

Serge had a pair of scratches on his face and Hughie immediately went about trying to hunt down a first aid kit. 

“Jesus, Serge, what the fuck did she do to you?”

“It was my fault,” Serge’s voice was hoarse and Hughie wondered what it was from but knew better than to ask. He probably wouldn’t like the answer. “She was scared, and she didn’t understand.”

Hughie glanced towards the bedroom in one of Serge’s smaller properties. There were only half the walls, everything was falling apart, the entire building was clearly condemned. There wasn’t even any power, the single lamp and hot plate that Serge was using were powered by a jerry-rigged car battery. It was less of a mess than the apartment they had stayed in for nearly a week, with only a few random pieces of furniture that had clearly been left behind by the previous tenants some years ago, and a couple of mismatched chipped plates. Hughie wondered if maybe that other apartment, littered with possessions and clothing like a squirrel’s den, was his real home, the place where he called home rather than just a safe house. The Female, as Butcher had dubbed her, was still passed out, and Hughie wondered if Serge was awake purely because he had a higher resistance to drugs of all types. 

“Come here,” He sighed as he found a bottle of peroxide in the half-rotten kitchen cabinets. No real first aid kit, but Hughie’s shirt and peroxide would have to do. He carefully pressed the dampened material to Serge’s cheek, causing him to hiss sharply but Hughie’s hand prevented him from flinching away, the shorter man breathing through the stinging pain. “Okay, doesn’t look like it needs stitches, but you might not be smiling as much for a while.” Hughie kissed Serge’s forehead and the shorter man drew him down, stealing a deeper kiss from him.

“You had a good date?” Serge asked hesitantly and Hughie pulled back, staring at him.

“Maybe. She invited me to the Believe Expo with her, emotional support and all that.” Hughie pulled the blood-soaked paper towel away and then pressed a fresh, dry one back to the wounds. 

“Ah.” Serge murmured, and his eyes flickered away.

“Do you…” Hughie took a deep breath. “Do you want to stop this? Because of Butcher? Or because of the… Monogamy thing?”

Serge was quiet and Hughie wondered if he was about to get his heart broken too soon, too fast, too sudden. He could never let Serge know how much he meant to him, he couldn’t handle the power that would give the man over him.

“Non, I just…” Serge breathed deeply. “You could escape. Maybe. You could vanish, I could help you, and you’d just… Go on with your life. You could have a life.”

Hughie thought about what his life would look like with Serge. Constantly running, never staying someplace too long, always with a job, a mission, some of them less savory than others.

He thought what his life would look like without Serge and he thought of a gun in his hand, in his mouth, and then… Nothing.

“I wouldn’t have a life,” Hughie gave a weak laugh. “Even if I was alive. I wouldn’t really be living. I can live with the running, it will at least remind me that I’m alive.”

Serge stared at him, those dark eyes fixed on him and Hughie felt the same clenching tightness in his chest. “C-Can I tell you a secret I never told anyone?” He whispered and Hughie cupped Serge’s cheek, his thumb running over the line of stubble. “When I was a boy, my father, he stole me from Mamma. In Marseilles, middle of the night, just broke in, took me.” Serge’s fingers wrapped around Hughie’s wrist. “Kept me with him for years. Hotel after hotel. Every few nights, take me out for a walk. Smoke a Gauloise, tell me he loved me, then...” He mimed taking a cigarette and pressing it to Hughie’s skin. “I tried to run away so many times. I jumped buses, trains. Anything to get back to Marseilles. To Mamma.” There were tears in his eyes and this was real. This was quiet and vulnerable and real and Hughie wondered just how much Serge’s father, the bipolar man who stole him away, had done to Serge. “But every time, he find me. So I know what it's like to want to go home.” Serge’s eyes were brimming and Hughie wiped his fingers underneath them to keep the tears from falling. “I do not want to see you try to escape me like I escaped him.”

Hughie pressed his forehead to Serge’s. “That won’t happen.”

He couldn’t tell the man why. He would never tell Serge that deep, dark secret, that he had fallen in love at first sight, that night that he took a designer drug from a PEZ dispenser while he tried to buy a gun to end it all. 

He wouldn’t tell anyone that.

“Just… I want you to be mine and only mine,” Serge whispered, staring at Hughie. “And that is my father’s selfishness.”

Hughie kissed Serge, slow and deep, and whispered. “It’s okay.” He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t dig up the words to express what he felt, just hoped that Serge understood it when he pressed the emotion into his lips. “It’s okay.”


	5. No More Mr. Nice Guy by Alice Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Frenchie is going to be my boyfriend, he’s got a full resume if incapacitating supes and we’ve already got a few things that can incapacitate all of the supes at the Believe Expo if needed.” Hughie cleared his throat as he looked at Butcher. “This is backup. You’re worried about me getting blasted to pieces by a supe? Or giving away the operation? Frenchie can help with that, and he can help the most if Annie isn’t suspicious of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that I am aware that Tomer Capon is Israeli. However, the character is French so I thought it would be cool to have Serge's mother be from French Algeria (he would have been the right age to have a mother who would have grown up in that era and then marry a Frenchman.) 
> 
> This headcanon is just something that I enjoyed and thought to include for the hell of it. Please do not read too much into it.

“She doesn’t like chicken,” Serge said as he fussed around the half-destroyed apartment, looking up at Mother’s Milk. “She prefers fish.”

“Well she’s gonna have to learn to like burgers.” Mother’s Milk looked like he didn’t want to touch a single thing in the apartment and Hughie could sympathize. Sleeping on the mattress left on the floor of the main area made Hughie worry about bed bugs and he was… Quietly grateful that he would be going to stay at the Fairgrounds for a couple of days for the Believe Expo. He had never camped before in his life, but that had to be better than the rat-motel that Frenchie seemed to be running in this apartment. 

“You can’t just leave her alone in there! You need to speak with her!”

“Oh, because she is a wealth of conversation?”

“She needs company, if we just leave her locked up and alone we are not any better than the people who dosed her with V.” Serge snapped. He gestured to a gouged line in the floor and said. “That is the end of her reach, do not go past that just yet.”

“Ser - Frenchie,” Hughie rested his hand on Serge’s shoulder for the briefest moment, letting his hand drop as Mother’s Milk glanced at the touch. “Come on, she’ll be okay, and MM has got this.” He smiled and looked at Mother’s Milk. “Don’t give her a pen, but we got her some chalk, she’s… Beautiful Mind-ing it over there.”

Mother’s Milk peered into the room and stared at the circles littered all over the floor and walls well within The Female’s reach. 

“Just… Leave her to it, she seems to be handling it well.” Hughie gripped Serge’s shoulders, steering him out of the dilapidated apartment.

“And no chicken, she doesn’t like the chicken!” Serge shouted as he allowed himself to be led out of the apartment. 

“Come on, Serge, he’ll be okay. You’re hovering.” Hughie whispered as they walked down three flights of rickety stairs to Serge’s black van chocked full with surveillance equipment and Butcher waiting in the front passenger seat. 

“How’s MM settling in?”

“He’s probably going to have the condemned apartment entirely spotless by the time we get back,” Hughie said as he sat behind Serge. 

“And the Asian bird?”

“She is not a bad person, Butcher,” Serge said simply, staring at the road as he started driving. “I know she just wants to get back home.”

“Well for now she’s evidence of Vought’s plans so we gotta keep her safe for now. At the very least alive.” Butcher looked over at Hughie. “So, Starlight invited you, how did the date go?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Hughie said simply. “We’re friends, and she needed moral support, so she invited me.” Hughie cleared his throat. “And I asked if I could invite my boyfriend.”

Butcher’s eyes widened and Serge’s eyes snapped to the rearview mirror to look at Hughie before he returned to focusing on the road. 

“What are you on about? The job was to get Starlight to trust you by being her boyfriend and you can’t even do that right!”

“She trusts me more this way,” Hughie shrugged. “If I just suddenly became her boyfriend after she got famous.” He looked at Butcher and smirked. “Besides, you aren’t going to be my sugar daddy in this scenario, so don’t worry.”

“Now listen here, you little-” 

“Frenchie is going to be my boyfriend, he’s got a full resume if incapacitating supes and we’ve already got a few things that can incapacitate all of the supes at the Believe Expo if needed.” Hughie cleared his throat as he looked at Butcher. “This is backup. You’re worried about me getting blasted to pieces by a supe? Or giving away the operation? Frenchie can help with that, and he can help the most if Annie isn’t suspicious of him.”

Butcher glared at him, his fists clenching before he growled. “Get to the camp grounds, Frenchie.”

* * *

“Hughie!” Annie smiled as she approached them, giving Hughie a tight hug that knocked the wind out of him before she turned to Serge, holding out her hand to him. “Hello, you must be Hughie’s boyfriend!”

“Ah, Bonjour Miss Starlight,” Serge smiled his own charming grin, kissing Annie’s knuckles gently. “Je m'appelle Serge.”

“Oh, please it’s just Annie to my friends,” Annie’s eyes lit up and she paused before she slowly said. “Je m’excuse, ma français est… Terrifiant?” She gave an apologetic look to Serge, who smiled right back at her. 

“I do not think you are terrifying,” He chuckled, releasing her hand as the three of them stood together. “Mon coeur says that you kicked his ass at bowling.”

“Hey, I gave her a run for her money.” Hughie laughed, and after a moment he awkwardly draped his arm over Serge’s shoulders, the other man gripping his wrist to keep him in place, to keep him from regretting the move. “I like this new outfit, by the way. The other one had a very… Nicki Minaj thing going on.”

“You dare insult Nicki Minaj?” Serge gasped, staring up at Hughie. “How dare you.”

Annie gave a laugh and ducked her head, shrugging as her cape flapped around her waist, obstructing the view of her body slightly. “Gonna be honest, the other one sucks. They’re only letting me wear this one because it’s more family friendly.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess they don’t want me being half-naked in front of a bunch of teenagers.”

“Hey, teenage me would have been thrilled to see you in the other outfit.”

“Agreed.” Serge grinned. 

“I’m glad you came, Hughie,” Annie gave him a genuinely apologetic look. “And I’m glad to meet you, Serge, Hughie said you were great.”

“Oh?” Butcher’s voice whispered in the earpiece that Hughie and Serge both wore. “Do tell.”

“You spoke about me?” Serge asked, raising a brow at Hughie. 

“Only good things,” Annie smiled, and Hughie knew that she was lying, but it was still a relief that she didn’t give away his doubts. 

“Yeah, I told her about your pharmaceutical classes,” Hughie gave Serge a smirk. “He’s a genius with powders and pills.”

“You flatter me, petit Hughie.”

“Petit… Oh,” Annie flushed as she glanced between the two of them and Hughie flushed when she came to a conclusion.

“It is not as dirty as it sounds,” Serge laughed. “His name is Hugh Junior. Hence, petit Hughie.”

“Oh!” Annie laughed, sheilding her smile with her hand. “Oh my Go-goodness.” She shook her head. “I thought it was, oh I’m stupid.”

“Non, non, non,” Serge grinned. “My mother struggled with French culture as well. She apparently always thought everything was a dirty joke.”

Hughie smiled down at Serge, listening to him chat Annie up and wondering if maybe Serge would have been a better honeypot. He was charming, sweet, and attractive and clearly knew how to be around people. Hughie felt like an awkward scarecrow being hauled from place to place beside Serge’s easy charm.

“Hey, Starlight.” Someone said casually as they walked past the trio, and Serge glanced away, tucking his face against Hughie’s neck while Hughie looked at Annie curiously. 

“Hi.” She called after the person, smiling and waving at them.

“Okay, so, do you know everybody here, or just, like, 99.9%?” Hughie asked, keeping Serge tucked against his side, despite the dirty glares that it was drawing.

“No. My mom and I, um, we would drive coast to coast in her brown Honda Civic, just doing the whole Christian Circuit thing.” Annie shrugged as the three of them walked along, Serge lifting a coffee cup to his lips, obstructing his face even more along with the large sunglasses he wore. “You know, Power Fest, Capes for Christ, Believe Expo. We wore the tires off of that car. These people are like family to me.” She shrugged and smiled up at Hughie. “After everything that's happened, it's actually... it's really nice to see them again.”

Annie glanced at the two and smiled. “So what about you? Neither of you seem very… Religious.”

“Hey, hey, I did my time in Sunday school,” Hughie joked, shrugging his shoulders.

“I am Muslim myself,” Serge gave Annie a smile while Hughie tried to mask his own surprise. He couldn’t imagine Serge as anything, much less a Muslim, but it was an interesting revelation. “But I do not hold that against anyone.”

“Oh!” Annie gave Serge an apologetic look. “Oh, Serge, I’m sorry, that’s… Wow, thank you for coming but you didn’t have to if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“I say I am Muslim,” Serge laughed, giving Annie a brief pat on her elbow. “I did not say I am a good one. I fell out of practice long ago.” Hughie watched Serge’s face and wondered quietly about the story behind that confession. He wondered if that was just a means to keep Annie on the back foot, to gage where her soft spots and weaknesses were.

“Annie, sweetheart,” A woman approached and Annie moved forward, hugging the woman tightly.

“Mom! Hi,” She gave the woman a firm squeeze and then released her. “How was your flight?”

“Oh, it was a nightmare. I think we sat on the runway for 45 minutes, and then there was all the, you know, Flight 37 stuff. But a Xanax and a couple of Pinot Grigio later, here I am.” The woman glanced at Hughie, Serge looking down at a display of Ezekiel merchandise, grabbing and stretching the arms of a rubber toy curiously while Hughie glanced at Annie’s mother every so often. “Oh, hello. Uh, do you want a autograph? H-Honey, give him an autograph!” She gestured to Annie, who flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh, no, no. We... I mean, I know her.” Hughie held out his hand to the woman. “Hughie, we’re friends.”

“Oh. Do you work at Vought?” The woman asked, not bothering to introduce herself to Hughie as she shook his hand.

“No. No, no, no.” Hughie laughed. “Um, tech sales. Just a lowly nerd.”

Annie’s mother glanced at him, then at Annie, clearly trying to come up with a reason why he would associate with her beyond a need for fame. “Uh, how nice.” Hughie hated how ungenerous his thoughts were towards her, but the way Annie wilted and seemed to want nothing more than her mother’s approval made him feel sorry for her.

“Starlight. You hydrating?” A redheaded woman approached, a Vought employee lanyard dangling from her neck as she smiled at Annie’s mother. Hughie turned towards Serge, resting a hand briefly on the other man’s shoulder as Serge glanced up at him, the two of them carefully keeping their faces out of direct sight of this new Vought employee. “Hey, Donna. How was your flight?” She didn’t wait for Annie’s mother to respond as she looked at Annie. “You have that "Teen Roundtable" in about 15, are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm.” Annie nodded.

“Oh, she was born ready,” Donna grinned proudly. “I should know, I was there.”

“Um, do you want to come?” Annie asked, looking up at Hughie then at Serge. 

“We’ll let you go ahead and, uh, roundtable those teens,” Hughie smiled. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Alright, where are you two cunts? Let’s recon over at the opening bullshit.”

Hughie and Serge made their way through the fairgrounds, observing the people around them quietly. Hughie was sure that Serge had a better idea of what to look for and was not sure what even would warrant his notice. Serge’s lips moved quietly and his eyes darted everywhere behind the sunglasses, Hughie only noticing from the angle he was able to look down from and watch Serge’s lashes twitch and move.

Ezekiel was on stage, giving a bullshit speech about faith and why supes got their powers. Hughie didn’t know why supes got their powers, but he was sure it wasn’t anything as arbitrary as faith. Hughie hesitated as they walked past a stall declaring proudly “1 Man + 1 Woman = Marriage”, frozen in place for a moment as he saw a “Impure Thoughts? Fly Straight!” poster that was modeled exactly off of one of the posters Hughie used to have in his room. 

He had never felt unwelcome in most spaces. Even when he was brought into the fold of Butcher’s Boys he had been welcomed because he was useful. But here… Here he felt like all eyes were watching him, picking him apart the same way Serge would pick apart a problem, trying to find what small part needed to be tweaked to fix him, to find a solution to his flaws and problems.

“There is Monsieur Charcuter,” Serge whispered, and the two of them automatically parted in a way that even the judgmental stares of others had failed to make them flinch. 

“Two twats at every entrance, armed to holy hell… In church,” Butcher murmured to them and Hughie glanced around, noticing security personnel dressed in white shirts and black slacks, but the guns brought by security were hard to distinguish from the far-right gun owners, the numbers seeming to bleed into one another.

“Ah, the American right to weapons, it makes for good business,” Serge glanced at Butcher. “And God is watching from above there, and there.” He nodded at two different cameras and Hughie tried not to look directly at them. 

“Security tighter than a choir boy’s asshole, right, Frenchie?”

Serge didn’t respond to that comment and Hughie was quietly grateful for it. “So how do we get in, Butcher?” Hughie asked, looking over at the man. 

“This,” Butcher handed over a phamphlet and Hughie nearly choked on his own spit.

“$15,000 for an exclusive VIP experience with Ezekiel.” He looked at Butcher. “Seriously? There's not an easier, cheaper way for us to get to him?”

“We ain't getting to Ezekiel. You are.” Butcher looked at Hughie, smirking at him. 

“I am?” Hughie’s voice cracked at that concept.

“Pardon?” Serge asked, and Hughie could tell that he did not like this plan any more than Hughie did. “No, no, no, no, no, it should be me going in. That was the plan.”

“Plan’s changed,” Butcher looked at the two of them. “Starlight's one of the headliners, right? She'll get you in. Frenchie isn’t that buddy buddy with her.”

“Whoa. Look, we've only been on, like, a bowling game and half a movie, okay? I can't just ask her for a Diamond Club Pass.”

“What's the matter? You worried your fake Supe friend's gonna think you're using her?” Butcher sneered. 

“Okay, then what?” Hughie rubbed at his jaw, nervously trying to go over all the ways this could go wrong. “I just go up to Ezekiel, "Hey, man. What's up with you smuggling blue dope into Chinatown basements?"”

Serge rubbed his own face, clearly worried about this new turn of events. 

“Yeah, pretty much. Once you show him this.” Butcher held out his mobile and Hughie glanced at it, then immediately snatched it from the man’s hand.

“Jesus.” He hissed, looking at the video of Ezekiel between two men, making out while he got blown by a third. “This is from that club you took me to?”

“You remembered our first night together. I'm touched.” Butcher teased and Serge’s face tilted an imperceptible amount, trying to be careful to hide the movement.

“Hughie is not ready for this, Butcher,” Serge whispered. “He does not know anything about this, we have to come up with a different plan.”

Hughie nodded frantically, trying to hold the phone back to Butcher, “Yeah. Yeah, what he said. I-I don't know how to blackmail anybody.”

Butcher stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “Hughie, you've done a murder.” He smirked and gave Hughie a nudge on his shoulder. “Comparatively speaking, this will be a piece of cake.”

* * *

Hughie was shaking like a drowned rat as he sat in the back of Serge’s black van, the man looking at him worriedly. 

“You’re sure that you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hughie changed his shirt, shivering and still feeling like his life was flashing before his eyes. “Jesus, that was not cake. It was weird and scary and I ended up just saying that I fucked him and sucked his dick and that was weird.” Serge gripped at Hughie’s shoulder briefly, and for a moment he could see something dark cross his gaze before he schooled his expression. “Well… I’m now baptized as Christian… Is that gonna be a problem when we get married?” He tried to joke, tried to keep it light.

Serge gave a brief laugh. “Ah, I am not, ah, bon religieux.” The other man cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. “My mother’s family was French-Algerian,” Serge smiled at Hughie. “They were Muslim, when she immigrated to France my father was Catholic, so she married him within that church.” Serge shrugged and cleared his throat, flicking his ear piece out even though Butcher had long left the frequency. “I cannot believe that a merciful god would allow so many horrors to happen. There is not just random chaos, but the God that lets this world come to be?” 

Hughie looked at Serge’s ankle, at the cigarette burn scars hidden beneath jeans and socks. He had kissed over those marks before, tracing them like connected constellations. 

“Do not worry, petit Hughie,” Serge smiled and reached out to kiss Hughie, hidden by the doors of the van. “We will go to a courthouse.” It was clearly a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, and Hughie allowed it to, smiling against Serge’s lips. 

They broke the kiss when Serge’s phone went off, the man answering and expecting Butcher. 

“Hello?” Serge left his hand on Hughie’s shoulder, gliding his fingers over the back of his neck. He straightened and whispered. “What locations? Which addresses do they have?” Moments later he hung up, immediately calling another number and Hughie felt his chest tighten at the fear in Serge’s voice. “MM, get out, I’ve been burned.”


	6. Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad by Meat Loaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie watched Serge, taking in the man. It was true, what Anthony said. As guilty as Hughie felt for moving on so quickly, he hadn’t really. He was still doing all of this in the spirit of dedication to Robin, the hunting down supes, the blackmail, even the murder. 
> 
> But Serge was all for him. He was a selfish decision that Hughie had made for himself and only for himself. The fact that Serge was part of Butcher’s Boys was a benefit, but it wasn’t why he had chosen to pursue this. 
> 
> Anthony’s words… it felt like permission.

“Come on, Hughie,” Serge groaned, leaning against Hughie’s shoulder. Mother’s Milk and Kimiko were bonding, with MM teaching The Female how to use a cell phone and futilely attempting to teach her how to text in an effort to communicate with her. The man had become closer to her. Still wary of her strength, but after she had saved him from a close call with Black Noir he had become nigh inseparable from the girl.

Hughie glanced towards the living area of the safehouse, a good two rooms away, and looked down at Serge, who was now starting to kiss a line up the column of Hughie’s throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Serge.” Not after Butcher’s outburst at the Collateral Damage Support Group. Hughie had agreed with him, quietly, internally, but the people who were hurt but still struggled with the emotions, with the anger… Hughie could understand it. If he had been the one injured he would have struggled to accept the emotions. It was only because someone he loved had been hurt that he allowed himself to feel rage, a righteous type of fury.

Hughie wrapped his arms tightly around Serge, trying not to think about the way Butcher had held so tightly to the memory of Becca, how he was certain she was alive. Even if Becca was alive… Hughie lived with the feeling of Robin’s hands still gripped in his own. Butcher could have his hope, as much as it killed him, Hughie… Hughie had to move on for his own sanity.

“I have been stuck here for nearly a month, petit Hughie,” Serge looked up at him and Hughie glanced down, flushed at the expression in those dark eyes. “That is a very long time to be cooped up.” One hand was sliding over Hughie’s groin, fingering at the zipper of his jeans, the other was tangled with Hughie’s own fingers. “I have very lonely nights and MM is a stiff and petite soeur is not good at conversation. I need to get out.”

Hughie tried to think of a reason to tell Serge no. There were roughly a dozen reasons, and they were all of Serge’s aliases that had been burned. However, he had missed the man. Most of his missions had now been spent with Butcher who was… Terrifying in a group, but even worse one on one. He would go visit with Annie and she’d ask him about Serge and he’d have to come up with an excuse for why she couldn’t visit him every single time.

“Okay,” Hughie sighed, kissing Serge’s hungry lips softly, letting the man give his lower lip a bite. “Okay, okay, how about… Supe Trivia?” He smiled at Serge. “You and I would smoke everyone else.”

“Oui, yes, yes!” Serge gripped at Hughie’s wrist, drawing him closer. “And afterwards… A hotel?” Serge grinned up at Hughie, kissing his lips again. “Someplace private. MM is going to be up all night working on his map. We could get away for a night?”

Hughie breathed deeply, stealing one last kiss from Serge’s lips before pulling back for some air. “Okay, okay, but only one night. We can’t risk you.” He rubbed his thumb over Serge’s wrist, over the pulse there. “I can’t risk you.”

* * *

“Hey,” Hughie smiled as he nudged Serge’s knee underneath the table. “Eye of the tiger. You and me? We have a Panera gift card to win, so no distractions.”

Serge gave Hughie’s thigh a squeeze and grinned, looking down at their list of trivia questions. He had doodled a bunch of drawings along the margins, managing to leave a perfectly blank square in the middle. Hughie smiled at the variety of symbols, some of which were The Female’s drawings, some were little cartoonish bunnies, and Hughie could even see a few carefully hidden penises drawn among the chaos. 

“Before joining The Seven which hero led a search-and-rescue team after the 1994 Northridge earthquake?”

Serge stiffened at the question, his jaw clenched before he said. “Lamplighter.”

“Yeah, can confirm,” Hughie nodded. “Because I’m a nerd.” He lifted his beer and tilted his head to take in Serge’s expression. “So was he… Was he one of the ones you were paid to… Um…”

“I was assigned to tail him,” Serge cleared his throat. “By Madame Mallory.”

“Your old boss?”

“Oui, and I… I left my post because a friend was in need… He was dying…” Serge cleared his throat. “Lamplighter killed Madame Mallory’s grandchildren. They were asleep in her bed.”

Hughie stared at Serge, at the pencil gripped tightly in his hand. “Hey,” He stroked over Serge’s wrist, carefully extricating the pencil from his hand. “We don’t have to do this. I thought it’d be fun but I’m an idiot.”

Serge smiled at him and cleared his throat. “It was a long time ago, and I do enjoy this.” He leaned closer, stealing a kiss from Hughie, in front of the entire bar. “Thank you.” He murmured, and Hughie couldn’t resist pulling him close for another soft kiss.

“Hughie?”

The two of them parted and Serge smirked as he left his hand on Hughie’s thigh, taking in the younger man’s expression as Hughie stared at Anthony.

“Hey,” He smiled weakly as Anthony came over, giving him a tight hug around his shoulders. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Anthony asked, sitting down at the small table next to Hughie. “After Gary's store, we all thought that...” Anthony looked over and smiled at Serge. “Oh. H-Hi. Uh, Anthony. Hughie's best friend since fourth grade.”

“Serge,” Hughie watched as Serge gave Anthony a firm handshake, the man giving Anthony a searching look, as if to try and figure out if the man was a threat in any way. “It's nice to meet you.”

“You look familiar,” Anthony looked curiously at Serge. “Doesn’t he? Were you a sub at Kennedy?”

“No, no, he’s new in town,” Hughie laughed, trying to brush it off. 

“But doesn’t he look exactly like that substitute teacher you had your weird thing for?”

“Oh?” Serge grinned. “I thought you said I was the only man you had dated?”

“Oh, this sub was good looking, but Hughie would never admit it. He kept staring at the guy in every class. Every time we got a new sub Hughie would ask if it was going to be this one guy, what was his name, Fornsten?”

“Mr. Feuerstein,” Hughie provided before he could stop himself, cursing quietly when Anthony and Serge both laughed at him and Hughie could feel Serge’s hand tracing the seam at his inner thigh. “Look, he was smart and he let us do cool shit like play games in class and do science experiments.”

“Ah, so you do have a type!” Serge laughed, leaning over to grin at Hughie. “Intelligent older men.”

“Who said you were intelligent?” Hughie asked with a smirk. “You’re more mad scientist than anything.”

“Ah, but you still admit I am a scientist!” Serge laughed, leaning over. 

“Yeah, one that’s absolutely batshit,” Hughie laughed, giving Serge’s own thigh a firm squeeze. 

Serge laughed and kissed Hughie, uncaring of Anthony sitting right across from him, before he stood and moved towards the bar. “I am going to get some food and wine, don’t move.” 

Hughie smiled and watched Serge leave before he flicked his eyes to Anthony’s worried gaze. “Surprised to run into you here, man.” Anthony whispered, trying to keep his voice low over the sound of the trivia night going on around them. 

“Yeah. Same goes for you.” Hughie shrugged, clearing his throat. 

“I've been worried, asshole. Ever since Robin, you...” Anthony reached out, resting a hand on Hughie’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “You weren't answering your phone. Like, for all I knew, you were chugging Drano.”

Hughie felt guilty as he looked at Anthony, wishing he could tell one of his oldest friends about what he had managed to get mixed up into, why he wasn’t talking to anyone. He wished he could tell Anthony about how right he had been at one point, how Serge, who Anthony clearly disapproved of, had saved him. “I'm sorry, man.” He managed, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, you should be.” Anthony gave a small smile, but the hurt was still there.

“No, really, I-I should've called.”

“You think?” Anthony gave Hughie’s shoulder another squeeze before he let his arm drop. “Just… I need to know you’re okay.”

“I'm okay. Really. I-I just...” Hughie glanced at the bar where Serge was clearly trying to get the bartender to give him drinks for free. “I n-needed a fresh start.”

“Fresh start?” Anthony glanced at Serge. “Your fresh start is a decade older than you.”

“Seven years.”

“What?”

“Seven.” Hughie drank about half of his luke-warm beer and cleared his throat, running his fingers over the glass. “He’s a good guy. He… He kept me from ending it all. He’s good for me.”

“Hey, man, live your life. That’s what Robin would want.”

Hughie watched Serge, taking in the man. It was true, what Anthony said. As guilty as Hughie felt for moving on so quickly, he hadn’t really. He was still doing all of this in the spirit of dedication to Robin, the hunting down supes, the blackmail, even the murder. 

But Serge was all for him. He was a selfish decision that Hughie had made for himself and only for himself. The fact that Serge was part of Butcher’s Boys was a benefit, but it wasn’t why he had chosen to pursue this. 

Anthony’s words… it felt like permission.

* * *

Serge leaned against the doorframe of the small motel bathroom, staring at Hughie as the other man stripped out of his clothes, the shower running to warm up the water as Hughie inspected the towels, feeling a little suspicious of their cleanliness. 

“Would you like my help cleaning up?” Serge asked, smirking at Hughie. “I have very dexterous fingers.”

Hughie glanced at the shower stall then at Serge. “I know you’re a small guy but I don’t think you and I both can fit in that shower.”

“A tragedy,” Serge nodded, inspecting the shower as well. “How did you get this room? Is it under your name?”

“Nah, as far as the front desk knows Elvis is staying here.” Hughie folded his clothes and left them on top of the narrow countertop. “Paid in cash and everything.”

“Magnifique,” Serge leaned against the doorframe and Hughie felt his eyes trailing over his body. He glanced over at the other man and met his dark gaze. “Ah, of course, I will leave you be. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Not too long of a wait, I’m sure you can handle five minutes,” Hughie stepped into the shower and ducked his head under the water. “I’ll be out soon.”

When he turned to look at the door Serge was gone, and the sound of the television being flicked through could be heard over the sound of the shower running. Hughie took a few moments before he worried his lower lip between his teeth. He and Serge had taken time to be with one another. Kissing and oral and the occasional handjob or fingering were the norm, but Hughie hadn’t let Serge fuck him since that first night together when he was high on MDMA and couldn’t even remember half the night.

Hughie stared at the yellow tile of the shower, breathing deeply before he reached back to clean between his legs. There was a few moments of hesitation before he started to press, shivering as his forehead came to rest on the shower wall. It wasn’t quite how he remembered, but there wasn’t any haze of the MDMA. It was real and strange and good and everything that Hughie had remembered in the dream-like state of his high. 

“Fuck,” He whispered, shaking as his fingers sank deeper into his own body, the angle making him struggle to reach a better angle. He bit his lower lip, worked another finger in to stretch himself just a bit more, then let his hand slide out from between his legs. He tilted his head back, letting the water run over his neck and chest for a moment before he washed off his hands, shampooed his hair, then stepped out of the shower. He didn’t even bother drying off, letting his skin drip as he stepped into the rest of the motel room.

Serge’s eyes were fixed on the screen, the cut-away collar of his tee shirt being nibbled on as his eyes flicked over to Hughie. He froze, the collar of his shirt falling from between his teeth as Hughie moved to stand next to the bed, turning to face the screen. 

“Shark week?” Hughie asked, pretending to ignore Serge, trying to keep a smirk off of his own face. 

Serge’s hand gripped at Hughie’s hip, guiding him to turn as he tried to forcefully pull Hughie onto the bed. Hughie went easily enough, unable to keep a smile from his face as he straddled Serge’s hips. 

“You’re doing this to tease me,” Serge purred, his fingers digging into Hughie’s hips, his ass, pulling him close. Hughie gasped when he felt fingers pressing against his entrance, making his heartbeat stutter as Serge carefully worked him open, feeling the loosened muscle from Hughie’s earlier endeavors.

“Whatever could give you that idea?” Hughie asked as he tried to keep his breathing even.

Serge’s lips fixed on Hughie’s collarbone, biting and sucking until the younger man was shaking and clutching at his skull, scraping his nails over the buzzed hair.

“You leaving marks?” Hughie asked, and while Serge remained silent, Hughie could feel the curve of his lips pulling into a grin. “What about Butcher?”

“I’ll leave them beneath your clothes,” Serge whispered, growling into Hughie’s skin when the younger man arched into the bites. Hughie shivered at the possessive tone, at the disregard for their team’s leader. Nothing mattered other than Serge’s body against his, his hands, his teeth and mouth, the way he glided down Hughie’s body, pressing him onto the bed. Hughie felt gangly and a little too tall as his head fell over the edge of the bed, Serge’s teeth latched onto one of his nipples, sucking and bruising until Hughie was sure his nails were going to cut through the skin of Serge’s scalp. 

“Serge,” Hughie moaned, allowing one leg to wrap around Serge’s thighs, drawing him close. He gasped when he felt Serge’s erection through the sweatpants the man constantly wore. Serge bucked his hips and reached down, pressing one hand to Hughie’s neck to keep him from looking at him, two fingers curling over Hughie’s chin to press between his lips. “Fuck… Serge.”

“That’s the idea.” Serge’s voice was rough and panting as he fumbled his pants down, the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock reaching Hughie. 

“Did you have lube in your pocket?” Hughie asked breathlessly as he searched for Serge’s wrist, following down to the obscenely wet length of his cock to stroke and feel in time.

“I like to be prepared,” Serge whispered as he settled further between Hughie’s thighs, his hand pressing more firmly to Hughie’s neck, obstructing his breath only slightly, just enough to give Hughie a light-headed high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Hughie groaned and bucked his hips when he felt the press of Serge’s cock into him. “Slow, slow, I’m not - oh fuck - slow.”

Serge groaned, pressing his forehead to Hughie’s chest, biting and sucking at his ribs as Hughie gripped his shoulders. “Slow,” Serge agreed. He was clearly trying to keep his movements controlled, but Hughie could feel how he was speeding up with each thrust. 

“Serge!” Hughie choked out, gasping and shaking as Serge began to move faster and faster, his fingers leaving bruises in Hughie’s thigh and neck. The discomfort and pressure and brief twinges of pain faded away to friction and heat and pleasure as Serge moved, against him. 

“Mon coeur,” Serge whispered softly. “Tu es si beau sur ma bite.” 

Hughie shivered and bit at his lower lip, panting through his nose at the feeling. “Please, please, oh fuck, I need to come, I need to come.”

Serge pulled back to kneel more fully on the bed, gripping at Hughie’s knee with one hand to guide the long leg over his shoulder. Hughie gasped, more breathless with the new angle than he had been with the Frenchman’s hand wrapped around his throat. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side, only for Serge to keep thrusting, hitting a new angle that made Hughie throw his head back in a breathless cry.

He felt so vulnerable, his head all but dangling off the edge of the bed, one hand reaching out to touch Serge’s stomach, his ribs, feeling his breaths as the other man moved eagerly against him. He couldn’t stop the rough noise that escaped his throat when Serge’s hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him firmly.

It took an embarrassingly short time for Hughie to come, his entire body shaking and writhing with the feeling.

“Fuck, Hughie,” Serge growled, kissing at the side of Hughie’s knee as he kept moving. Hughie’s eyes rolled back when he felt Serge continue his brutal pace, panting in broken French and English as he stared at Hughie. “So good. You feel so good, mon coeur, so fucking good.”

Hughie tilted his head to look up at Serge, taking in the lines of sweat dripping down the man’s neck and chest, matting the dark hair leading down from chest to groin. One hand reached down and pressed his fingers between his legs, along the messy trail of semen, down to where Serge was still fucking him. Hughie bit his lip, shivering when he felt the easy movement, slick and obscene, of the other man’s cock in and out of his body.

And that seemed to be the last gesture that pushed Serge over the edge, groaning as he leaned forward to kiss at Hughie’s neck and moan through his orgasm.

* * *

“Candy flip?” Serge asked, holding up his PEZ dispenser and Hughie opened his mouth, letting the man flick one of the pills onto his tongue then another into Serge’s own mouth. Hughie felt like his shower was completely wasted as he laid with his head against Serge’s chest, his hair covered in sweat, his thighs and stomach and groin covered in both his and Serge’s semen. 

“Shouldn’t you have offered me that before you fucked me seven ways to Sunday?” Hughie asked as he drank from a bottle of water he had brought in his duffle bag. 

“If I had done that then you would not have all of those glorious memories,” Serge smirked, kissing Hughie’s head gently. “Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves.”

“Mhm? And what else do you want to do with our night off or did we already run through your wishlist?” Hughie teased, reaching back to comb his fingers over Serge’s buzzed hair. 

Serge opened his mouth to say something, only to scowl when The Deep came onto the screen of the television that had been running the Discovery Channel for the last several hours. “Well, let’s find something else to watch, maybe The Golden Girls is on.”

“You like the Golden Girls?” Hughie laughed, grinning up at the other man as Serge fumbled through the bedding for the remote. 

“Of course! Late night television has always been my best friend. It helps me through many lonely nights.” Serge flicked through various channels before he stopped on a very vintage sounding opening sequence. “Ah, yes, c'est assez parfait.”

A man narrated the grainy images on the TV and Hughie felt the MDMA starting to kick in as he relaxed into Serge’s chest, “New York. The hearts of seven million men and women beat inside this city. But there's only one person who can see inside their hearts and read their minds.” 

There was a teenage boy with long blonde hair on the screen, dressed in a three-piece suit reaching across a table to touch a suspect’s hand. “This man is the rapist.” He said before the scene cut to another environment, showing the teenager sitting in the passenger side of a car. “There are no secrets from me.” The words “The Mesmerizer” flew onto the screen and Hughie felt Serge stiffen briefly. He looked up, worriedly wondering what horrifying memory that particular supe brought up.

“Our girl! We can use The Mesmerizer to help our girl!”


	7. Train Kept A Rollin' by Areosmith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh Sr stared at Hughie for a long moment before he whispered quietly, “You, um, the gentleman driving the car?”
> 
> “Frenchie,” Hughie smiled. He couldn’t give his dad Serge’s real name, but at the very least he could give his dad some of the truth. He had lied to him for so long, had just dropped off the face of the earth. “He’s saved my life more times than I can count.” Hughie whispered as he held Hugh Sr’s gaze, wondering if this would be the only time to tell him so much that had changed, if they'd be dead or separated by the end of the day. “I love him. I really do.”

“Right, so better to be loyal to a dead woman who doesn't know and doesn't care? How's that working out for you?” The moment the words were out of his mouth Hughie regretted them entirely. Butcher’s gaze was absolutely murderous and the rest of the room were silently watching the fight about to go down. Even Serge, usually so willing to go against orders, was quietly stirring batter for cupcakes along with Kimiko, the two of them trying not to make direct eye contact with the shitshow that was unfolding on the other side of the room. 

Butcher had Hughie’s collar wrapped around his fist, his knuckles white from how tightly he was holding Hughie in his reach. It was an ugly fight, and Hughie knew that physically he couldn’t win against Butcher, but he 

“You two are going to jeopardize all of us for you selfish, petty little reasons.” Butcher growled, staring at Hughie angrily. 

“Why not? You’re willing to jeopardize us to avenge Becca,” Hughie snapped, clenching his fists tightly, prepared to fight the man even if it was a no-win situation. “At least Serge and I are making sure to keep each other alive.” There was a silent tension in the room, filling it like water and Hughie felt like he was going to drown in it. 

Everyone was frozen in place, Serge and Kimiko both ready to step in, Mother’s Milk sitting over by his laptop, his hands resting on his thighs. He wasn’t standing, but it was clear that if Butcher was going to actually kill him that Mother’s Milk would step in. 

Hughie’s phone went off and it broke the spell that had held the group in place. Hughie and Butcher stepped back and Hughie pulled his phone from his pocket, answering and clearing his throat. “Hey, Dad.”

It wasn’t his dad’s voice on the other line, “Hey, Hughie. Long time no talk. You know, I've been thinking about you a lot lately.”

Hughie’s hand immediately started to shake and he could feel his pulse rocketing up at the sound of A-Train’s voice. It was seared into his memory, but he had to be sure, “Who's this?”

“I thought you would recognize my voice. You spend so much time obsessing about me, am I right?” A-Train’s voice became slightly distant as he held the phone out to Hugh Sr. “Say hi to your baby boy, Dad.”

“Oh. H-Hey, hey, hey, Hughie. Why is he here?” Hughie’s heart had migrated up from his chest to lodge right in the back of his mouth, his eyes burning with tears as he thought of his father at the mercy of A-Train. “He says you're in some kind of trouble.”

“Dad, are you okay?” Hughie choked out, whispering quietly and Serge was already making his way over, his hand resting on Hughie’s elbow. 

“He's fine. Remington Steele's almost on.” A-Train said with a grin that Hughie could hear through the phone line. 

“A-Train, listen to me.” Hughie’s voice cracked and he heard the others fly into motion, realizing that the others were burned. Serge and Kimiko grabbed their go-bags along with Hughie’s and Hughie tried not to fall to his knees. “He's on fucking Medicaid. He's harmless. Let him go.”

“Get your ass over here in 20 minutes, or I'm gonna burst through him like a fucking piñata, do you understand me?” A-Train’s voice had a soft wheeze to it and Hughie felt the gears turning in his brain. He didn’t know the details of drug use, but years of visiting Robin when she volunteered for narcotics recovery programs had made him acutely aware of just what withdrawal sounded like. “Just like I did your girlfriend.”

“Yeah.” Hughie nodded even though A-Train couldn’t see the gesture. “Got it.”

“And, Hughie, alone. If I catch a whiff, a whiff of one of your little asshole friends...”

* * *

Hughie kissed Serge as the man floored it, turning to look at Kimiko sitting in the front passenger seat while Hugh Sr sat buckled tightly in the back. “If I didn’t think you’d punch me I’d kiss you too.”

She smiled at him then turned her gaze back to the road.

“Get down, petit Hughie, Monsieur Campbell,” Serge ordered. “Traffic cameras can catch you two, but Kimiko and I don’t exist.”

“Petit…” Hugh Sr looked at Hughie with a concerned look and Hughie guided him to lay down on the back seat while Hughie laid down in the foot well. 

“It just means Hugh Jr, dad.”

“O-oh,” Hugh Sr glanced at the back of Serge’s head, taking in the thick scar visible through the buzzed hair. 

Hughie cleared his throat as his father watched Serge for a few moments, Hughie smiling at his father in an attempt to be reassuring. “I-it’s all okay, Dad. We’re gonna be okay, just have to get to the safe house.”

“Hughie, what’s going on?”

“It’s hard to explain, Dad, but A-Train isn’t the only bad guy, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

Hugh Sr stared at Hughie for a long moment before he whispered quietly, “You, um, the gentleman driving the car?”

“Frenchie,” Hughie smiled. He couldn’t give his dad Serge’s real name, but at the very least he could give his dad some of the truth. He had lied to him for so long, had just dropped off the face of the earth. “He’s saved my life more times than I can count.” Hughie whispered as he held Hugh Sr’s gaze, wondering if this would be the only time to tell him so much that had changed, if they'd be dead or separated by the end of the day. “I love him. I really do.”

Hugh Sr glanced at Serge, then at Hughie, then at the man again as he shouted at another driver that cut him off. “If… If he’s what makes you happy, Hughie, I’m happy for you.” There was a beat. “So, um… Are you gay now?”

“No,” Hughie smiled. “Serge is just an exception… In a lot of ways.” They went over a familiar bump and Hughie gripped his dad’s arm. “Okay, we’re almost there, when we get out keep your head down and walk casually, like we’re going out to trivia or something.”

“O-okay,” Hugh Sr cleared his throat, glancing out the window as Serge and Kimiko left the front seats. Kimiko opened the door behind her own seat and Hugh Sr slid out, followed by Hughie, the two of them walking at a clipped pace into the safehouse.

Mother’s Milk and his family were already back, Butcher was still gone, and Serge gave Hughie’s hand a firm squeeze before he pulled a burner phone out of his go-bag and immediately started dialling numbers.

Kimiko perched herself on a countertop, staring at Hugh Sr, at Monique and Janine Milk, curiously taking them in and Hughie smiled at her, gesturing towards her cupcakes from earlier. “Can we, um?”

Kimiko immediately went over and grabbed an armful of unfrosted cupcakes, passing them out to everyone in the safe house. Serge accepted his own cupcake but didn’t eat it, holding it in his hand as he paced around the safehouse, speaking in rapid French, Arabic, Spanish, and English in turns, making an endless stream of calls that sounded increasingly desperate. By the time he had spent an hour making calls he had managed to stuff six cupcakes into his mouth, clearly stressed beyond measure as he paced in aimless patterns across the safe-house floors. 

When his final call seemed to fun equally afoul Serge turned, tossing the phone against a concrete wall as he cursed. 

“Hey, hey,” Hughie bolted over to Serge, cupping the man’s face in his palms. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he needed to believe something as he held Serge closer than he had ever felt comfortable in front of the rest of the Boys. “I’m sure that that CIA lady is going to help us once Butcher tells her the situation.” 

Serge rested his forehead against Hughie’s shoulder, the two of them breathing as they stood close, Hughie’s pinky curled around Serge’s thumb. It was a small, chaste touch, and Hughie wished he could kiss Serge, soothe away all of the worry, but now was not the time.

* * *

“Welcome to our new home, ladies,” Butcher said as he tossed his bag onto one of the two beds of the run down motel room. “We’ll be sleeping in shifts.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Hughie sighed, placing his own bag on the small table in what could only be described as a dining nook. 

“Just don’t bugger Frenchie in his sleep,” Butcher growled, and Hughie sighed, rubbing at his eyes as he checked his phone for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

Annie had been ignoring his calls and despite everything he was still worried about her. If Homelander had figured out who they all were, then it was likely that he knew that Hughie and Annie were friends. What would he do to her when he found out?

Serge came up behind Hughie, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s shoulders to hold him, grounding him silently as Hughie felt himself starting to shake apart at the edges. 

“Your father will be alright,” Serge whispered, and Hughie felt tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “You will see him again soon, when all of this is taken care of by Madame Raynor.”

“I hope so,” Hughie whispered. 

He didn’t tell Serge about how he was pretty certain that he wouldn’t be able to ever see his father again and still be a part of their ragtag little group. Hugh Sr would never be safe if Hughie was still essentially labeled as a domestic terrorist. And even if they were cleared of everything, became actual contractors for the government, Hughie would have supes after him all his life. 

“You know, um… I’ve never been to France,” Hughie looked up at Serge, who stared at him with a confused look. “We should just… Go. Get new identities, go and live out the rest of our days in some tucked away little house and eat until we’re too fat to move and drink wine every day and just… Anything but this.”

Serge kissed Hughie’s temple, his shoulders obstructing the movement from Butcher and Mother’s Milk’s view. “After we have taken care of this. One more job, we just have to wait for Madame Raynor to do what she can.”

Hughie couldn’t explain the dread that had settled like a rock in his gut. It would never be that easy for their little team. It couldn’t be.

Maybe there was a God, but God was Butcher’s cynical vision.


	8. Welcome To The Jungle by Guns N' Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butcher was still for a long moment, facing away from Hughie, and when he slowly turned Hughie clenched his fists. Boots crunched on loose gravel scattered all over the parking lot and Hughie refused to step back as the man tried to pin him in place by sheer force of will. “You’re a pathetic cunt and an insult to Robin’s memory.”
> 
> The stab hit true, but Hughie refused to give in to that pain, not in front of Butcher. “I’m not doing this for her.” Hughie said as he took a deep breath, stepping back from the other man. “She’s dead, the others are still alive.”

“It’s all about Homelander, isn’t it?” Hughie asked, feeling his chest tightening by the second as he stood in the empty parking lot, watching Butcher change the license plates on his car. “I was just useful to you.”

“Of course you were useful to me,” Butcher straightened and looked down at Hughie, towering and terrifying as he tossed the old license plate into the furthest corner of the parking lot. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” 

“So I’m only here so long as I’m useful? Like the others?” Hughie stared at Butcher. “Did they outlive their usefulness? Is that why you aren’t going to get them? Just leave them to rot?”

“They’ve been burned, they’re a liability now.” Butcher growled. “You better get that through your thick skull.”

Hughie thought of Mother’s Milk, thought of his daughter who might never see her daddy again. Of Kimiko, who wanted to find her brother, who they had promised to help find for her. 

He thought of Serge, who had given him a second chance at life, who had given him a moment of solace. 

“You’re a coward.” Hughie whispered, tilting his chin as he set his jaw and glared at the older man’s back while Butcher closed the trunk. 

Butcher was still for a long moment, facing away from Hughie, and when he slowly turned Hughie clenched his fists. Boots crunched on loose gravel scattered all over the parking lot and Hughie refused to step back as the man tried to pin him in place by sheer force of will. “You’re a pathetic cunt and an insult to Robin’s memory.”

The stab hit true, but Hughie refused to give in to that pain, not in front of Butcher. “I’m not doing this for her.” Hughie said as he took a deep breath, stepping back from the other man. “She’s dead, the others are still alive.”

* * *

Hughie got practically thrown into what he could only describe as a cage. Mother’s Milk and Serge were in it, but Kimiko was nowhere in sight. Mother’s Milk lunged forward, his hands cuffed together just like Hughie’s and from what Hughie could tell Serge’s as well. 

“Hey, easy with him, man.” Mother’s Milk barked at the guards who trained guns on the group while Hughie was manhandled into the cage. “Fuck wrong with you? Shit. Bitch ass.” He looked over at Hughie and felt him over slightly in the overprotective way that he did. “You okay? You break any bones?”

“No, no. No.” Hughie shook his head, panting as he tried not to close his mouth, his retainer jammed uncomfortably in his mouth. 

“Did they get Butcher, too?” Serge asked as his eyes fixed on Hughie’s face, cupping his hands at Hughie’s jaw as if it was the last thing he wanted to feel before death.

“No.” Hughie shook his head only slightly. 

“They got you separated?” Serge frowned, confused. “When? When?”

“Well, um, he went after Homelander. But I...” Hughie swallowed slightly, his mouth falling open again as he cleared his throat. “I came to save you.” He lifted his hands in a small cheering gesture. “Yay.”

“So, you came here? You meant to come here?” Serge asked, blinking up at Hughie in confusion. 

“Without Butcher.” Mother’s Milk confirmed. 

“Yeah.” Hughie nodded.

“C'est incroyable.” Serge whispered before his grip on Hughie’s jaw became firmer and he dragged Hughie down in a deep kiss, the man’s tongue slipping into his mouth briefly. “Never has a man thrown his life away so... completely like you've thrown yours away today.” Serge gave Hughie a brief shake. “And all for me?”

“Well… Yeah, Serge, you’re all I got,” Hughie decided not to address the fact that Serge and Mother’s Milk were so certain they were all doomed without Butcher. 

“No... no, what I mean is, you rescuing us is the most useless, futile gesture I can think of.” Serge sighed, pressing his hands to Hughie’s cheeks to give him a brief, annoyed shake.

“Yeah, I-I got it.” Hughie huffed slightly as he looked down at his lover. 

“Unbelievable.” Serge murmured to himself more than anything before he stole another kiss. 

“All right, so what's the plan?” Mother’s Milk finally asked after awkwardly watching the two kiss several times. 

“Okay. Okay, um... all right, so they searched me.” Hughie swallowed and stared off into space, thinking of how they had touched him in places that only Serge had touched before then. “Very, very thoroughly.” He blinked out of the memory and focused on the two men, opening his mouth to point out the torture device he had managed to sneak in. “But I managed to Poligrip in my 12th grade retainer.”

Serge grabbed his chin and peered up as he stood on his tip toes. “Let me see.”

“So it looks like a permanent bridge, and it totally worked!” Hughie grinned down at Serge then at Mother’s Milk.

“Shit.” Mother’s Milk looked surprised, but pleased with Hughie’s ingenuity.

“Frenchie,” It still felt strange to call him Serge in front of others, it was an intimate, quiet thing between them that even in this situation he couldn’t let go of. “You can pick a lock with anything, right? There's premium metal wire in this thing.”

“Come on, take it out!” Mother’s Milk stepped back, gesturing for Hughie to get on with it.

“Okay, one second.” Hughie grabbed at the retainer and pulled, only to freeze, eyes widening as he stared at the floor in dawning horror.

“Come on, man. Spit that bitch out.”

“It's stuck.” He lisped around his fingers, looking up at the two men. 

“Okay, okay, stand still.” Serge stood on his tip toes and forced two fingers into Hughie’s mouth. Hughie felt deeply embarrassed that his first instinct was to let his tongue stick out and his jaw go slack as Serge worked his fingers into his mouth. “Stand still. Open. Open the mouth...”

“Come on, get up in there, Frenchie.” Mother’s Milk said, peering up at Frenchie’s fingers working back and forth, trying to loosen the retainer. “Just go deeper. Just a little deeper.”

“All right, all right, all right,” Hughie pulled back, unable to keep his face from flushing at the words that brought back much more intimate memories. “H-h-hold... whoa, whoa, whoa. That hurts, Frenchie!”

“Let me get this.” Mother’s Milk said, stepping between the two of them. He turned to Hughie and gave a placating gesture. “Let me get this. Relax, okay?” Hughie breathed deeply and looked up at Mother’s Milk. “Look. Look, focus. Focus.”

“Okay, okay. What?”

“Imma knock that bitch out your mouth, okay?”

“We're not at that step yet.” Embarrassment gave way to panic at the prospect of Mother’s Milk, an ex-marine who worked at a juvenile detention center, knocking his retainer out. “We don't have to do that.”

“It's just gonna sting a little bit. A'ight?” Mother’s Milk was trying so hard to be reassuring. It was working.

“Sting?”

“On three.” The man said gently, giving Hughie a fatherly look, like taking his kid to get her shots. “One to three.”

“Okay, well, if you count down - fuck!”

Hughie did not expect the sudden blow, but it did, in fact, send his retainer skittering across the floor, Serge chasing it down before he came back to check on Hughie.

“You all right? You okay, buddy?” Mother’s Milk asked as he looked at Hughie, checking over his face, which Hughie could already feel bruising on top of everything else. “Good job, Hughie.”

* * *

“Hughie, go!” Annie barked as she took over the CPR on A-Train’s armored chest. “If you stay here they’ll kill you.”

Hughie pressed his hand to Annie’s shoulder and whispered a soft thank you before he ran like his life depended on it. 

He could see Mother’s Milk loading Serge and Kimiko into a maintenance van. Hughie grabbed Kimiko’s shoulders from Serge, taking her unconscious weight after a brief struggle with her artificially dense body. 

“Okay, okay, Frenchie, can you hotwire the car?” Mother’s Milk asked as he started to perform first aid on the other man’s shoulder.

“I got this, I got this,” Hughie said, gesturing for the two men to get into the back of the car. “Come on, we gotta go guys.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve watched a fuck ton of crime shows,” Hughie tried to sound confident in his abilities even as his heart threatened to escape clean through his ribs. “Okay, okay, so I - I…” Hughie turned and looked into the back of the truck. “Is there a toolbox back there?”

Mother’s Milk groaned and rummaged for a moment before throwing a toolbox into the front seat. “Move it, Hughie!”

“Okay, okay, flathead screw driver.” He pulled out the tool and jammed it into the ignition as hard as he could. “Please, please, please, be pre-1999…”

The engine turned over and Hughie let out a relieved groan.

“Hughie, we gotta go!” Mother’s Milk shouted, his voice sounding even more panicked. “Take my word for it, don’t look in the rearview mirror, just fuckin’ drive!”

Hughie slammed his foot on the clutch and threw the car into gear, grateful that Hugh Sr had insisted that he learn how to drive stick before he got his license, and took off. It was the middle of the night, so there was no traffic, which was both a blessing and a curse. 

“Gotta get somewhere safe,” Hughie whispered to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay, okay…” Hughie’s fingers clutched at the steering wheel and he looked over his shoulder only briefly. “Is Frenchie okay? Kimiko?”

“They’re fine, man, but we’re in the shit, they’ll be looking for this car!”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Hughie pulled off the highway and into a suburban area. “Get ready to move.”

They pulled up outside a house and parked the maintenance van. Hughie glanced around before his eyes landed on a vintage project car, gleaming in a driveway. It looked like a perfect replica. 

“This is not the time to steal a dream car!” Mother’s Milk hissed as he put Kimiko over his shoulder.

“No alarms on this model,” Hughie said, carrying the tool box as he turned. He rummaged through the toolbox and cursed softly before he found a mallet. He held the flathead up to the window of the car and slammed the mallet into the handle, shattering the glass. He unlocked the front and back door on the driver’s side then jammed the screwdriver into the ignition.

“Who’s out there?!” Someone shouted from within the house, lights flicking on and Hughie cursed as he tried to get the engine to turn over. 

It roared to life and Hughie glanced back, made sure that Mother’s Milk and Kimiko were in the back, that Serge was in the passenger side, before he tore out of the driveway. 

“What do we do now?” Hughie asked as he kept a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

“Go to Red Hook,” Serge whispered. “The Haitian Kings operate out of there, hidden in plain sight. They owe me a favour.”

“The Haitian Kings? Really, Frenchie?” Mother’s Milk whispered as he let Kimiko squirm and lean against him as they drove through the outskirts of the city. “Those mother fuckers are gonna kill us on sight.”

“No, they will not, we’re going to be fine,” Serge rested his hand on Hughie’s elbow.

* * *

Serge was speaking French faster than Hughie could pick out the scant few words that he knew. The Haitian Kings seemed pretty pleased to have Serge among their numbers, but they warily glared at the others in their little ragtag group. After a what must have been the longest half hour of Hughie’s life Serge came over to them, Mother’s Milk’s rushed attempt at first aid starting to bleed through the strips of fabric he had turned into bandages. 

“We stay in the basement of their headquarters. It’s in New York City so we will be able to operate and get a plan going,” Serge leaned against Hughie. “They’ll bring us food, but we have to work for them.”

“Okay, whatever, as long as it’s safe,” Hughie wrapped his arm tightly around Serge’s waist to keep him from collapsing. “MM, can you take them both? I gotta get rid of the car.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hughie grabbed his screw driver. “I got this, I can do anything.”

Serge gave a weak smile and laugh, and Mother’s Milk glanced at the Haitian Kings that were loading up whatever drugs and weapons they were smuggling in innocuous boxes, A-Trainers and Black Noir brand hydrobottles being the most notable boxes. 

“Okay, but you get back here soon.”

“I promise,” Hughie leaned over and kissed Serge’s temple before he pulled back, letting Serge lean against Mother’s Milk while Kimiko came out of her haze enough to reach out to him. “I’ll be back, I promise, just let me do this.”

He drove for two hours to a used car lot. Minimal security, only a few cameras but no guards and a minimal likelihood for there to be a silent security alarm. Hughie looked directly at the cameras before he turned and pressed the head of the screwdriver to the lock in the doorknob, smashing it with the hammer to break the lock. He dropped the hammer and left the screwdriver in the door. It took a bit of time, but the safe that held all of the vehicle keys was easy enough to crack as he listened to it in the pure silence of the shop. Numerous spy movies, hours watching Leverage and Mythbusters during nights of rampant insomnia, and all those times he had idly cracked the code for the safe at Bryman Audio-Visual had prepared him for this moment. 

He grabbed a variety of keys and searched through the lot for the corresponding cars. The first car was the hardest, deciding how far was far enough to ditch the car. A back alley fifteen minutes away felt like a reasonable amount of time. 

One hour, three cars.

Two hours, five cars.

Three hours, eight cars.

By the time he hit the six hour mark he had scattered about a dozen cars across the city.Hughie finally took the last car from the lot and drove it to a random bus depot, ditching it before he started to walk down the street, avoiding cameras as he hunched his shoulders and his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

His feet were sore, blistered, and his shoes, already years old, were moments away from giving up the ghost when he made it back to Red Hook. The last of the Haitian Kings were paying off the security guard at the port so Hughie stood next to the beat up old El Camino that one of the men was sitting in.

“Je suis Hughie, l'ami de Frenchie.” He managed after a few stumbles with his accent. It was probably the most useful phrase he had learned while working with the Boys and Serge’s various criminal connections. The woman behind the wheel looked at him, then nodded and gestured for him to get into the car.

Hughie had gotten used to lack of sleep, but now he was beyond his threshold. 

Fear and stress and adrenaline had kept him alive for so long that now… As stupid as it seemed to trust gangsters over superheroes, he had learned from the rest of the Boys that sometimes criminals were much more trustworthy than law enforcement. 

Arriving at the pawn shop Hughie watched as they were buzzed in by a doorman even at three in the morning. They walked through the empty shop, past lines of superhero comics, electronics and other items before the woman walked him past another guard reading a magazine. He pulled the door open for them and Hughie waited for the woman to go through first, gesturing for her to go first. She flashed her gun at him and he cleared his throat before he nodded and entered the basement, hoping that his friends really were there.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Mother’s Milk asked as he glared at Hughie from his spot watching the news with Kimiko beside him. “We thought you got made, thought we were gonna see your mugshot on the news.”

“I stole a bunch of cars from a used dealership and scattered them all over the city.” Hughie smiled as Kimiko bounded over to him, hugging him tightly as she tucked her face to his shoulder. “I had to walk a lot, and catch taxis and buses.” 

“Jesus, Hughie,” Mother’s Milk looked him over, took in his falling apart shoes, before he shook his head. “Get cleaned up, there’s no shower here but there’s a few sinks.”

Hughie looked around and already felt even more exhausted. “Okay. How’s everyone doing?”

“Frenchie stayed up as long as he could,” Mother’s Milk nodded towards what looked like a utility closet. “Until I dosed him with percocet in some takeaway noodles.”

“Okay,” Hughie nodded, his shoulders slumping as he made his way to the sink that Mother’s Milk had pointed out. He peeled off the tattered remnants of his shoes and socks, stripped out of his shirt and jeans, leaving himself in nothing but his underwear as he scrubbed at his sweat soaked body with a damp rag that had probably seen better days. 

He looked up and there was a mirror right over the utility sink showing the dark circles under his eyes, his sweat-soaked curls, his body covered in bruises and cuts. He was grateful that Mother’s Milk and Kimiko were in the main area of the basement, leaving him to have some privacy with Serge, even if the other man was still unconscious. 

Hughie entered the utility closet and saw the small cot shoved against the wall, tucked behind a cabinet, with Serge all but falling out of the bed as he breathed deeply. Mother’s Milk had clearly redone the treatment to Serge’s shoulder, with real bandages now tightly wrapped around the shoulder and down the man’s arm. Hughie knelt and stared at Serge, breathing deeply as he pressed his forehead to Serge’s own, breathing in the smell of his breaths and the scent of antiseptic that Mother’s Milk had used on him. 

“Mon Coeur?” Serge managed after a few long minutes and Hughie nodded.

“I’m here, Serge, I’m here.”

“Was worried.”

“Just sleep. You’re injured and need your rest.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I will.” Hughie kissed Serge’s lips softly. “Just sleep, I’ll be right here.”

“Mhm,” Serge sighed softly. “Has anyone heard from Butcher?”

“No, not yet,” Hughie didn’t even know, he didn’t want to ask Mother’s Milk if he had seen anything. The betrayal still stung and Hughie didn’t want to think about the man that had abandoned the others so easily in pursuit of revenge. “Just sleep.”

“Je t'aime, Hughie,” Serge mumbled, drifting off again.

“Je t'aime, Serge.”


	9. Helter Skelter by The Beatles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, okay…” Hughie glanced around and immediately grabbed one of the Bryman branded reusable bags that Gary had bought, turning the bag inside out so that the branding wasn’t visible. “Grab some phones, whatever you want plus anything else you can find.”
> 
> “Pour eux aussi?” Serge asked as he began to grab boxes upon boxes, stacking them carefully in the bag. 
> 
> “We provide the Kings with phones and any burners that we need can he kept on hand so we’re not stuck with this current problem again.” Hughie grabbed three laptops from the shelves and ripped the boxes open, placing the laptops and cords themselves in the bag. “Anything else we need?”
> 
> Serge was quiet, his eyes skimming the room before he looked at Hughie and grinned. “A television.”

Hughie pulled on a plain denim jacket over his favourite Joel At The Garden tee shirt, lacing up the A-Trainers that the Haitian Kings had tossed aside in a far back corner of the room. They only needed the boxes, so the shoes seemed to be community property. It felt only slightly better to wear the trainers knowing they were stolen and that no money had gone into A-Train’s pockets. 

“Where you going, Hughie?” Mother’s Milk asked as he began to carefully glue together the precisely cut pieces of his daughter’s dollhouse. “It’s dark out.”

“We need phones,” Hughie said simply. “Trust me, I got this.”

Mother’s Milk glanced at Hughie then gestured to Serge, who was hovering over Kimiko, clearly annoying the more introverted member of their group. “Take Frenchie with you.”

Hughie hesitated, then smiled. “Come on, Serge, let’s go get some phones.”

Serge glanced over from where he was fussing with Kimiko’s hair, trying to get it into a braid of some form, before he released the bundle of hair in his hand and climbed over the back of the couch. Kimiko gave Hughie a relieved look and ran her hands through her hair to undo Serge’s attempts. Serge threw on a jacket and yanked on his boots before he followed Hughie up the stairs into the pawn shop. 

“Hey, Aloysius,” Hughie murmured to the doorman. Aloysius didn’t even look up from his magazine as he pressed the button to unlock the door. “Thanks.” Hughie murmured as he and Serge stepped into the street. They hopped onto a random train line, which was fine because they’d then take a random bus to their destination. Hughie had all but memorized the public transport schedules in the last few weeks with lack of anything else to do. 

They bought their train tickets in cash and when they stepped onto the crowded train there were no seats, third shifts had just gotten off so there were plenty of people to hide among. After a quick cursory glance around Hughie just grabbed at the hand bar to keep himself from falling over when the train started. Serge glanced up at the bar, then smirked and wrapped his arms around Hughie’s waist to steady himself as the doors closed and the train began to move.

It was a quiet train ride and while they did get a few dirty looks, neither Hughie nor Serge could bring it in themselves to move. There were few quiet moments in The Basement, and absolutely no privacy. But with no one recognizing the two of them, with Mother’s Milk and Kimiko not there to give them teasing comments and snickers was enough to make the two of them relax into one another’s arms.

“Wish we could get a motel,” Serge whispered into Hughie’s chest and Hughie ducked his head closer to listen. “Like before. That was very romantic.”

“I’m pretty sure that bedspread had never been washed, before or after we were there.” Hughie teased as he rested his hand on the back of Serge’s neck while the shorter man framed Hughie’s own waist with his palms. “When this is all over, once we bring down Vought, we should go away.”

“Where should we go?” Hughie asked, his face tucked close to Serge’s temple, listening to the other man ramble on about the places they could go and live, what they could do with the rest of their lives. 

When the train had been going for nearly half an hour the two stepped off at a random station then started to walk. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bryman,” Hughie smiled at Serge. “Gary apparently still hasn’t figured out what to do with the shop.” 

“The place you used to work?” Serge asked curiously. “You don’t think that is risky?”

“It’ll be easier than going to a place we don’t know. I know where all of the cameras are.”

“Why did you choose to work in a store like that?” Serge asked curiously, smiling up at Hughie. “It seems… Very mundane.”

“Before all of this… Before Robin’s death, I was happy,” Hughie paused, then kept walking. “I mean… I wasn’t happy. I was one bad day away from stepping into traffic. But my life was tolerable. It was… Nothing special or amazing, but I could live with it.”

“You would have been a great bank robber,” Serge grinned as they kept walking, following Hughie’s guidance. “That’s what I used to do, before I started working with Butcher.”

Hughie glanced down, making note of where they were, how much further they had to get to Bryman. “And Grace Mallory?”

“Oui, Madame Mallory was the one who kept me out of prison,” Serge stared into a middle distance and Hughie reached down to grip the man’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe if we had met earlier things would be different.” Hughie wondered aloud, and for a moment he thought of how maybe Serge wouldn’t have had to work for Mallory, how Hughie might have been more adventurous. 

It didn’t matter, it didn’t help to dwell on things that could have been.

“So that is it?” Serge nodded minutely up ahead. The shop was still standing, miraculously, after Butcher’s rescue attempt. The glass had been replaced, but the front of the shop was clearly under renovation. “So will there be tech in the back?”

“If not then there will be in his storage unit,” Hughie kept his head down and eyes ahead as he walked along the street. It felt like deja vu, walking side by side with Serge. When they got to the corner and turned Hughie felt his heart seize up at the sight of the exact spot where Robin had been burst to pieces by A-Train. Serge kept walking, so Hughie kept pace, breathing through the pain. 

“You know where that unit is?”

“Yeah, he’d use it to keep stock there in preparation for the big holiday sales,” Hughie led Serge around a few corners, down a very suspect alley, and gestured to the back door when they finally came up to it. “Here we are,” Serge smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a set of lock picks, crouching in front of the back door to Bryman Audio-Visual. “You’re really good with your hands, you know that?” Hughie whispered, grinning as Serge fumbled slightly before he turned the lock and opened the door, Hughie’s own cheeks flushing darkly at the lascivious smirk that Serge gave him.

“I am good at many things.” Serge followed Hughie inside the building, giving Hughie’s ass a firm smack as the younger man walked past. “So what are we getting?”

“Okay, okay…” Hughie glanced around and immediately grabbed one of the Bryman branded reusable bags that Gary had bought, turning the bag inside out so that the branding wasn’t visible. “Grab some phones, whatever you want plus anything else you can find.”

“Pour eux aussi?” Serge asked as he began to grab boxes upon boxes, stacking them carefully in the bag. 

“We provide the Kings with phones and any burners that we need can he kept on hand so we’re not stuck with this current problem again.” Hughie grabbed three laptops from the shelves and ripped the boxes open, placing the laptops and cords themselves in the bag. “Anything else we need?”

Serge was quiet, his eyes skimming the room before he looked at Hughie and grinned. “A television.”

“What?” Hughie asked, turning to look at Serge with a raised brow. “Really? A TV?”

“We can steal a car.” Serge grinned even wider. “Come on, Hughie.” He practically slithered across the floor. “Wouldn’t it be better to sit, in that cold dark basement with a utility closet for a bedroom and watch TV on this.” He placed his hand against the corner of a box and Hughie glanced at the box and then back at Serge.

“That is an 85 inch television.”

“Oui.”

“That is taller than you.”

“Oui.”

“That is taller than me.”

“Oui.”

“… You just want to watch your nature documentaries on it.”

“Not just that! What about the news!” Serge was silent for a moment as Hughie stared at him. “And the Golden Girls and Mythbusters!”

“… What about How It’s Made?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, fine.” Hughie worried his lower lip before he sighed. “We gotta hot wire a car.”

* * *

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Hughie whispered as he walked backwards, carrying the TV carefully down to the basement. There were several Haitian Kings boxing up a white powder into A-Trainer boxes and Hughie didn’t have a hand to awkwardly wave at them as they paused in their routine to stare at him and Frenchie silently.

“Nous pouvons installer l'autre ici et mettre le Juge Judy à votre place,” Serge said as he and Hughie shuffled across the floor. 

One of the packers grunted, “Et les Hoarders?”

“Biensûr,” Frenchie grinned as he and Hughie placed the larger TV down in front of the single couch. “Now, Hughie… What do we do?”

Hughie placed the bags of phones and laptops looped around his elbows gently on the couch before he turned and gathered up a box cutter from one of the scattered worktables. “Well, let’s get this monster unpacked and see what we can do.”

It was an hour of running cables, moving the old TV to a new position for the workers, and then finally connecting the new TV before the two sat down. The packers were gone and a quick check of the back room found Mother’s Milk snoring on the cot and Kimiko curled up near him underneath a table, her usual comfort spot for sleeping.

Hughie sat down next to Serge and looked at him, the two of them placing the rest of the stolen tech nearby to be sorted through later. “What’s that look on your face for?”

“You’ve just changed so much,” Serge smiled and ran his hand over Hughie’s stomach, thigh, carefully curling his fingers at the crease of the younger man’s groin. “You’re more confident now.”

Hughie thought about it, and couldn’t help but think about how he had wished his youth was more misspent, how he had taken more risks, gotten into more trouble. How adulthood had seemed bland and endlessly boring to him in the past. He thought of Robin’s death, how it had drained all of the color from his world. 

He thought of Serge and how he had brought new, psychedelic colors to his life in a myriad of ways. 

Hughie kissed Serge softly, slowly dragging his lips over the other man’s, drawing out the touch until they were both laying on the couch, tangled and clinging to one another. They stayed like that for a few moments, Serge leaning over Hughie with one arm braced on the couch. 

“Merde,” Serge murmured as he pulled back, taking a sharp breath as he shifted. 

“Fuck, Serge, you’re still hurt,” Hughie leaned forward, forcing Serge to sit back on the couch so that Hughie could pull his shirt aside and check on the shoulder. Stitches were still in place because Serge didn’t know how to stop moving his arm and had reopened the wound several times. Hughie felt guilt claw at his chest. “We shouldn’t do anything while you’re still healing.”

Serge rested his hands on Hughie’s thighs while the younger man straddled his lap, pinning Serge in place with his weight. “You’re allowed to be the one in charge, Petit Hughie.” 

Hughie shivered at the mere implication, feeling his skin grow warmer as he gripped at Serge’s wrists, feeling the man move his hands up Hughie’s thighs, over his hips to hold him closer. “Careful, you might give me ideas.”

“You always have quite creative ideas,” Serge leaned forward and Hughie pressed one hand to Serge’s chest, fisting his fingers in the fabric to hold him in place. “You should try and surprise me.”

There were a million reasons this was a bad idea, and his brain could provide at least a few very good reasons within seconds. Serge was injured. They were in a basement with no soundproofing. There was no shower afterwards, how would they clean up. Mother’s Milk would have a coronary if he found out that they had sex on the couch they all sat on. They had all stopped sleeping properly for months. Hughie himself had been surviving off of gatorade, cheap takeout, and a rapidly dwindling supply of MDMA to keep his sanity.

They could all be made at any moment and killed in a blaze of super-fury from Homelanders who, in all likelihood, had already killed Butcher and was now after them.

It was that last thought that made Hughie lean forward and kiss Serge, cupping the shorter man’s face as he shifted so that their hips could line up better. 

“Gotta make it quick,” He whispered into Serge’s mouth and the other man moaned, his fingers digging sharply into Hughie’s ass through his jeans. 

“Fuck yes,” Serge bit at Hughie’s lower lip, trying to goad him into being rougher, and Hughie took that as a challenge. 

He was certain that if his past self could see him in this moment, shoving his jeans down his own thighs while another man did the same, the man’s dark eyes fixed on Hughie’s face as he fingered himself open… His past self probably wouldn’t even know how to process the situation. His past self also wouldn’t have hotwired a dozen cars to keep authorities and supes off his trail. Or stolen a fuckton of burner phones from his previous employer. Or gotten involved with Billy Butcher’s Bullshit in the first place. 

Hughie figured that this would probably be the least shocking thing his past self would ever see him do. 

Serge’s head fell back against the couch and his feet pressed to the ground as he tried to buck his hips up into Hughie’s firm grip, the younger man trying not to shiver as he sank down until their hips were flush.

It felt good to be in control, panting and shivering as he rocked back and forth against Serge, setting a slow, careful pace while those dark eyes stared adoringly up at him. 

“Fuck, Serge, I…” Hughie tucked his face against Serge’s neck, panting as he tried not to sink his nails into the man’s shoulder. Serge’s own teeth sank into Hughie’s neck, sucking dark marks into the skin. Everyone knew now, Mother’s Milk and Kimiko were the only ones that mattered, it didn’t matter what Butcher thought when the man wasn’t even there, might very well be dead. 

Hughie knew the bruises would be obvious, the individual teeth might even be visible in the bruised shape, but it felt so good and Serge was babbling in French against his skin between those welcome little jolts of sensation. 

“Je t’aime, petit Hughie,” Serge murmured into his skin. “Je t’aime.”

The world was full of lies and liars. Serge still had secrets he kept from Hughie. But those words had to be the truth.

“Je t’aime, Serge,” Hughie whispered back, his nails dragging over Serge’s buzzed skull.

* * *

“What the fuck, Hughie!” Mother’s Milk asked as he walked out of the utility closet, fully prepare to get his morning coffee, confronted by the sight of Hughie and Serge setting up the television they had stolen. 

“I thought you were getting burner phones?”

“We did,” Hughie gestured to the pile of phones on the couch next to Kimiko sitting cross-legged, supervising their work. “Pick whichever one you like, the Kings got a ton of SIM cards for us.”

“You stole a TV?”

“We’re setting up the cable too,” Hughie held out the remote to Mother’s Milk. “Want to pick the first channel?”

Mother’s Milk was quiet before he sighed and flicked on the TV.

“Please. My baby needs a mother.” Hughie glanced up at the screen with a blonde woman loaded down with clearly fake C4, tears streaming down her mascara. 

“Oi! Shut your trap, you dumb bird, or else I'll bollocks you.” The group froze as they stared at the screen, taking in the discount Billy Butcher that was snarling on screen. 

“But that's exactly what William Butcher did. He murdered Vought Vice President Madelyn Stillwell using upwards of 30 pounds of C-4.” Chris Hansen spoke in the over-acted way that pretty much every pundit on TV did. “Why would William Butcher do it? Disgruntled, perhaps, over his deceased wife, a former Vought employee. And why was Madelyn Stillwell's baby found safe in a yard 17 miles away?” The man gave an attempt and a contemplative look. “It is a puzzle.”

“Fuck… He… He blew up Madelyn Stillwell?” Hughie whispered, looking up at Mother’s Milk, then over at Serge. “He wouldn’t. Not really, right?”

“You don’t know him like we do, Hughie,” Mother’s Milk sat down on the arm of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck… What do we do now?”

“I… I don’t know.” Hughie looked at the screen as more people speculated on where William Butcher was and what he had planned next. “Fuck… This is a nightmare.”

Serge wrapped an arm around Hughie’s waist, rubbing his hand over the younger man’s side in a soothing motion. “Let’s… Let’s turn this off.” Serge breathed deeply. “We can come up with a plan. Madame Raynor… She can help us, oui?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Hughie pulled Serge close. 

Mother’s Milk took a deep breath, “We can operate out of here… For now. Until we come up with a plan.”


	10. Nowhere to Run by Martha Reeves & The Vandellas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie wasn’t sure what it said about him that he could sit covered in blood and only feel numb now. He thought of when he had killed Translucent, about how he had felt on the brink of a hysterical screaming fit. How he had been on the brink of a hysterical screaming fit. But now he waited, watched as Mother’s Milk and Serge cleaned themselves before he stepped forward, throwing his shirt into the utility sink and then began to scrub at his hair and skin with Dawn dish soap.
> 
> “Fuck, Hughie.” Mother’s Milk groaned as he slathered purell up his arms. “So glad you got us into this shit.”

“So, um… How are things going on your end? At the tower?” Hughie asked as he and Annie sat on the train together. He’d passed over the page from Gecko’s personnel file, had asked about the SIM card in Annie’s burner phone, and now they were sitting in awkward silence together on the train. 

“Well, I’ve started eating way too much, gained about five pounds since all of this went to hell,” Annie sat with her leg pressed to his. It was comforting, in a way, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric, knowing that people existed outside the Haitian Kings’ basement. “I don’t sleep well at night, maybe four hours. Oh, and I walk around every day with this knot in my throat waiting for the day that Homelander decides that I’m no longer useful or tolerable to him.” 

“That… God, that sucks.” Hughie breathed deeply, staring at the floor of the train car. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve lost about seven pounds that I did not have to lose.”

“How’s Serge doing?” Annie asked. 

“Well, they’re his people. But I don’t think they’re his friends.” Hughie sighed and looked down at his hands. “He’s… Adjusting. It’s rough for him being cooped up. The only times we have to get him out are when I do this with you.” Hughie cleared his throat. “And he… He doesn’t even know you’re involved. He just thinks I’m meeting him in the most roundabout route we can get.”

“You… Fuck, Hughie, you think that he’s going to like it when he found out you lied to him?” Annie was looking at him like he was an idiot. 

“The way I see it, if he doesn’t know then no one can force information out of him if we get caught,” Hughie breathed deeply. “I don’t want to risk him. At least with this I’m the only one in the crosshairs.”

Annie looked down at his shoes next to hers and then reached out, her hand resting on his knee. “Once we get the V and call the news then I can get the fuck out of the tower and we won’t have to do this.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, closing his eyes, leaning against her shoulder. She smelled like perfume and Hughie hoped that he didn’t smell as vile as he felt. He hadn’t showered in at least three days and he needed to escape the Kafkaesque nightmare he was living for longer than two hours before he started crawling on the walls or ceiling.

“Hey, Hughie?” Annie asked softly and Hughie looked over at her. “Does it ever… Just feel endless? To you?”

Hughie gave a wry laugh. “It’s always felt endless to me.” He rubbed at his jaw, at the back of his neck. “I’ve been suicidal and depressed ever since I hit puberty. I’ve lived with just… Day to day to day. I have to make it through today. I have to make it to the weekend. I have to make it to next week.” Hughie shrugged. “Wash, rinse, repeat, ad infinitum.”

Annie looked at Hughie and after a moment wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight hug before the train drew to a stop and she stood to get off at the station. “Things get better, Hughie. They have to.”

Hughie smiled at her softly, but he knew it wasn’t reaching his eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

She left, the doors closed, and Hughie ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his face wearily before he leaned his elbows on his knees to wait for his stop. 

Sometimes it was tempting to just… Sit on the train in endless loops, never getting off, never moving, becoming part of the environment. Like a modern day Rip Van Winkle, rocked to sleep on the New York subway for a hundred years. Sometimes he wanted to just step onto a Greyhound with Serge and purchase a random ticket to nowhere, to get away. 

But Vought could reach farther than they could run. So they had to stand their ground, there was nowhere to run where they wouldn’t be found. 

Hughie got off the train and made his way through the dark tunnels of the station, up the stairs to the light of a dingy, harsh day and then began to walk down the street. He got a text alert on his phone and looked down, smiling at the misspelled message that was followed by a deluge of emojis. Serge was the master of overtexting and it made Hughie laugh trying to translate the seemingly random emojis sent to him. 

He texted back in nothing but abbreviations and acronyms and made his way to the Shake Shack. 

They rarely got food from places other than cheap takeaways and bodegas as of late. But Hughie had recently learned how to skim debit cards, the sheer boredom of living in the Kings’ basement had led to him learning new skills, fiddling with new technology and going back to his old hobby of installing keyloggers on computers. Lately the library had been his main target. Serge had managed to get his hands on a card printing machine through the Kings and Hughie had gotten to work printing cards. They were only ever good for one use, for small transactions, but it meant they could get money cashed at any ATM and then go on their merry way to spend the money. 

It took an hour to get there, but Hughie enjoyed the walk, it left him to think, to fantasize about a future that wasn’t… This.

Serge was already at the Shake Shack and Hughie smiled as he babbled out everyone’s favourite orders. “- and a cookie dough concrete and a large diet cola for that order.”

“Individual bags?”

“Yes, thank you,” Serge smiled charmingly at the girl behind the counter and she flushed as she fumbled with the register. Hughie came up to the other man and draped his arm over Serge’s shoulder, pressing his nose to the man’s buzzed temple before his lips followed in a soft kiss. 

“Hey, babe,” He murmured, careful not to say the man’s name. He had never really been one for pet names, but needs must. 

“Mon coeur,” Serge smiled, kissing Hughie’s jaw lightly before he turned to count out cash for the meal. “Impatient as ever.”

“Did you get me a vanilla shake?”

“You are so boring, you know this?” Serge chuckled, holding out his hand for change that was passed to him, allowing Hughie to practically steer him away from the counter and the girl still making goo-goo eyes at the Frenchman. 

“Says the man who always without fail gets a flat-top dog from this place.”

“There is just something comforting about a hot dog in New York,” Serge laughed, putting his wallet away before his arm snaked around Hughie’s waist. “Are you jealous?” He whispered as the two of them stood to the side in the crowded restaurant, tucked against one another as they waited for their order. 

“Psh, no, she was like… Sixteen. You’re not that much of a pervert.”

“Perhaps I am?” Serge grinned up at Hughie. “After all, I like you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll go to prison for fucking me, Serge,” Hughie smirked. “But whatever weirdo fantasy you have is fine.”

“Oh, so we are talking about fantasies, hmm?” Serge practically purred as he looked up at Hughie, tucking his face against the younger man’s jaw. “I have plenty of those.” He breathed in the scent of Hughie and stiffened for a moment, no doubt smelling Annie’s perfume. Hughie decided to distract him, sliding his hand under Serge’s shirt to feel the bare skin and coarse hair of his chest.

Hughie closed his eyes for a brief moment before he straightened, stroking his palm over Serge’s chest firmly, making sure to feel the man’s heartbeat. The girl that had helped them waved them over after awkwardly trying to find a name for the order.

“Have a good day,” The girl called as the two of them thanked her and left, making their way quickly down the street. 

They were about half a block away when Hughie smiled down at Serge and murmured, “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss fleabag motels.”

“Quoi?” Serge grinned up at him, clearly having heard Hughie but wanting him to elaborate.

“How long has it been in the basement?”

“Six months, thirteen days, and sixteen hours.”

“Exactly,” Hughie groaned. “And how long since we had a bit of privacy?”

“Probably about four months if you count that time we went to that 24 Hour Fitness to take a shower.”

“Yeah, no, the custodian nearly walked in on us that time,” Hughie made a face. “The point is… I just… I miss being able to be alone.”

“D'accord, mon coeur,” Serge leaned into his side. “Perhaps we could… Sneak away? Tonight? Just for a little bit?”

“Yeah, and have Mother’s Milk turn into Mother Hen?”

“Fuck MM,” Serge grinned up at Hughie. “Two hours alone. That would be enough, oui?”

Hughie stared at Serge, thought of every single reason not to do any of that, and after a moment looked ahead. “Well… Let’s see what we can do about that.”

“That is not a no,” Serge purred, leaning against Hughie.

“It’s not a yes, either, so don’t get too excited,” Hughie knew that even if it wasn’t a yes that he’d be convinced one way or another. He should probably worry more about Serge’s ability to make Hughie throw all caution out the window. “You know… You’re an awful influence on me.”

“I know,” Serge smirked up at Hughie, standing on his tip toes to steal a kiss as they paused at a crosswalk. “I also know that you enjoy it.”

Hughie didn’t answer, but his smile was enough.

* * *

Mother’s Milk was the first to get unfettered use of the sink. Hughie did not enjoy standing covered in blood that had had over an hour to cake onto every inch of his body, but he knew that getting between Mother’s Milk and the soap, water, and Purell would result in broken limbs. 

He had stripped down as quickly as he could. There was no more room for modesty, not after six months of living in incredibly close quarters with the rest of the Boys. Kimiko was scrambling to help them find some clothes and Serge was checking his phone almost obsessively as he scrubbed at his own skin with a rag he had wetted down and used to soak up spilled cocaine earlier. 

Hughie wasn’t sure what it said about him that he could sit covered in blood and only feel numb now. He thought of when he had killed Translucent, about how he had felt on the brink of a hysterical screaming fit. How he had been on the brink of a hysterical screaming fit. But now he waited, watched as Mother’s Milk and Serge cleaned themselves before he stepped forward, throwing his shirt into the utility sink and then began to scrub at his hair and skin with Dawn dish soap.

“Fuck, Hughie.” Mother’s Milk groaned as he slathered purell up his arms. “So glad you got us into this shit.”

“She had a husband. Right?” Hughie swallowed as he finished washing himself, feeling numb and overwhelmed at the same time. “A kid?”

“Two... kids.” Serge murmured quietly.

“And I got her killed.” Hughie choked out.

“You didn't get her killed.” Mother’s Milk stood, but didn’t touch Hughie’s blood-smeared body. “That wasn't meant for us.”

Hughie looked up at the other man, confusion creasing his brow. “How do you know?”

“Because our brains aren't all over the dash, that's how.” Mother’s Milk rubbed at his face. “Someone was watching her, and the minute she said something she wasn't supposed to?”

“Somebody from Vought?” Hughie stared at Mother’s Milk, feeling creeping dread try to strangle his vocal chords. “So, we're saying that Vought may have just assassinated the deputy director of the CIA.”

“And now we're in the middle of that, too.” Mother’s Milk stepped close, his eyes boring into Hughie’s. “Happy now, motherfucker?”

Hughie’s phone rang and he wondered if this would be any form of good news, if anything could be considered good news at a time like this. “Hello?”

“It's me.” Annie’s voice whispered and Hughie stiffened, turning away from the others. 

“Jesus, you shouldn't be calling.” He whispered, trying to ignore Serge’s own angry, betrayed expression. He still hadn’t gotten over the news that he had been keeping Annie a secret.

“I'm on a burner phone, it's fine.” Annie was outside somewhere, he could hear traffic, birds, people.

“Yeah, but somebody could be listening.” He whispered, feeling even more paranoid that he’d hear the tell-tale pop of Annie’s head exploding over the phone.

“Hughie, we did it.” She was so blissfully unaware of the horror that had just taken place right before Hughie’s eyes and he wished he could feel as optimistic as her. “He's getting me the Compound V in, like, a day or two. What do you think? Um... New York Times? I mean, I was thinking CNN or MSNBC, but-”

“Okay, wait, wait, just-just-just hold on a second.” She could be next. If the assassin was in Vought then she would be next.

“Come on, this is what we've been waiting for. Let's burn those fuckers down.”

Hughie rubbed his hand through his still bloody hair, gripping at his curls tightly as he tried to focus, to calm his scrambled thoughts. “Just take a beat, let's figure out the best way to do this.”

A pause, then a wary, “Why? What happened?”

Shit. “Nothing.” He choked out. “Vought's just dangerous, that's all. I mean, you got to be careful. I don't want you getting hurt.”

“I'm not gonna get...” Annie hesitated before she seemed to catch onto what Hughie was desperately trying not to tell her. “If something happened, you know you can trust me. We're in this together.”

“No, I do trust you.” He had to, but this… This was too much. If she knew she’d do something stupid, like try and fight whoever it was who could just blow up people’s heads at will. “It's just... I just want to take our time. You know, do this right. That's all.”

“I know when you're not telling me the truth, Hughie. I kind of lived with it every single day.” She sounded angry and Hughie really felt he should get used to people being pissed at him for the forseeable future. Serge was angry, Mother’s Milk was angry, Annie was angry, Kimiko… He wasn’t sure, but she probably wasn’t pleased with him.

“I'm not. Swear to God.” He lied.

“Whatever. I, um... I got to go.” Annie hung up and Hughie let his arm fall, putting his phone back into his pocket out of habit.

He turned to face Serge and opened his mouth to apologize, to try and smooth things out with the other man, only for the group to turn when a man went falling down the stairs into the basement. 

The Haitian Kings that had been packing drugs drew their weapons and aimed at the top of the staircase and all Hughie could make out was a red and blue tracksuit.

And a familiar accent.

“All right, easy does it, lads. Easy does it. Like I tried to tell this cunt... I'm with that lot.”

Serge smiled slightly and nodded, “Yeah.” He gestured to Butcher and the gangsters scowled but lowered their weapons.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Mother’s Milk asked, and it was the most ridiculous thing to focus on, but Hughie couldn’t laugh, not when the group was welcoming Butcher back with opened arms, as if he hadn’t just… Left them all to die.

“That is a good question.” Butcher stalked down the stairs, looking around the basement, his eyes lingering on Hughie. 

Hughie, who couldn’t bring himself to meet the man’s eye as his jaw tensed so hard he was sure it’d shatter. He looked at Serge and whispered weakly, “You called him?”

“I'm sorry, Petit Hughie.” Serge had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “It's not a game now. We need a real captain.”

“Frenchie's right.” Butcher stepped closer, his dark eyes boring into Hughie’s as he smirked at him, seeming to delight in how aimless the group had become without him. “This is a fucking mess, son. We got a Supe Terrorist, Raynor's blown her canister, and we're the most wanted cunts in the country.” He grinned widely, stepping into Hughie’s space. “But don't you worry, Daddy's home.”

As he shouldered his way past Hughie, the younger man felt seething fury building inside him, like a carbonated drink shaken up, the pressure threatening to make him explode. Serge rested a hand on his wrist, and Hughie looked down at him, taking in the other man’s dark eyes. 

“I am sorry.” He whispered softly. “It had to be done.” 

Hughie felt something in him crumple at that. “We don’t need him. He betrayed us. Left us to die.”

“I know,” Serge whispered, nodding his head. “But we need him. This is worse than we could have imagined.”

Hughie clenched his fist a few more times before he breathed deeply and nodded. “For now.”

“Oui, for now.”


	11. Somebody to Love by Jefferson Airplane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie forced himself to his feet, his palms sore from landing on the asphalt. “Hey, kid, you coming?” Mother’s Milk called from behind the wheel and Hughie turned, staring at the street for a long moment. He contemplated just… Running down the street, away from all of this.
> 
> But Serge was in the van.

Hughie laid on the utility room’s small, cramped cot. Mother’s Milk and Kimiko were waiting for Butcher in the main area and Serge… Hughie scowled and tried not to think about the other man. The betrayal of Serge calling Butcher, and then just… Forgiving him… Was too much. Butcher had changed, pulled on his coat and then told them that he would be going to speak with a contact. Any attempt to get information from him, to find out who Butcher was going to speak to, to try and make sure that the man didn’t fuck them over again, was met with Butcher’s scowl and a “you’ll love it.” 

Hughie wasn’t sure if he hated anyone other than A-Train, but if the burning rage that ignited in his chest at the sight of Butcher smugly reclaiming his mantle as leader of The Boys wasn’t hatred then Hughie didn’t know what was.

“Mon coeur?” 

Hughie forced his eyes away from the music video playing on his phone, looking up at Serge wearily. 

“I am sorry, mon coeur,” The older man sat on the edge of the narrow cot, his hand resting gently on Hughie’s wrist and fingers. They weren’t holding hands, but the touch seemed to be enough to give Serge courage. “I did not know what was going to happen. We didn’t know what to do… We needed Monsieur Charcuter.”

“He didn’t need us, he didn’t take a second thought before abandoning you to Vought. If I hadn’t come to save you guys then…” Hughie didn’t want to think of it, shaking his head. “He abandoned us. And you just… Forgave him.”

“It is…” Serge sighed and looked down at Hughie and for the first time he looked his age and then some. He was wearing a crop top with a screen print of a bunny on it, but he also had grey scattered through his hair, dark circles under his eyes, and thin, small scars scattered throughout his face, neck, arms, and body. “It is not so simple, petit Hughie,” Serge stroked his fingers over Hughie’s wrist and whispered softly. “You are… You cannot lead us like he can. You are not as brutal.” Those skilled fingers inched up to Hughie’s face, stroking his cheek. “I am a selfish man. I do not want to see you become…” Serge couldn’t find the words, not in any of the languages he spoke. 

Hughie reached up and rested his palm on Serge’s cheek, drawing him close for a soft, brief kiss. 

“Does this ever end?” He asked with a sigh. “Will he… Just keep popping up in our lives?”

“Once we have gotten Vought off our backs we can run,” Serge kissed Hughie softly, his fingers tangled in Hughie’s curls. “We can go away, to Montreal, to France if you’d prefer.”

“What about Mexico?” Hughie asked, looking up at Serge. “We could have a little house in the desert.”

“Panama?” Serge smiled, looking down at Hughie. “There is a beach in Panama that has a beach covered in black volcanic sands, stretched out as far as the eye can see.”

Hughie looked up at Serge and smiled. “What is it called?”

“Playa Las Lajas, it’s beautiful,” Serge leaned his forehead against Hughie’s, smiling at him. “We can have a house on that beach. I have money hidden across the country. We can travel, we can go anywhere.” He looked deep into Hughie’s eyes and Hughie loved how dark and endless Serge’s eyes were, black like the volcanic sand he described. 

Black and beautiful and stretching for miles beyond the horizon.

“Frenchie, stop sucking the kid off and get out here!” Butcher’s voice called from the other room and Hughie scowled, immediately breaking eye contact with Serge and sitting up, even as Serge tried to steal another soft kiss from the man. The two of them stepped into the main area where Mother’s Milk was giving them an apologetic look and Kimiko was scowling at Butcher. 

“Just had a meeting with the colonel.”

“Colonel Mallory?” Serge asked and there was that soft tone of worry, of pain, whenever anyone mentioned Grace Mallory’s name. Hughie wondered, not for the first time, when Serge would tell him what had happened. “Y-You saw her?”

“That's right, Frenchie. She's gonna help us.” Butcher smirked as he stared at Hughie, not at Serge, clearly pleased at Hughie’s frustration and anger at Serge’s easy acceptance of Butcher back into the team. “We get her the Supe terrorist, she's gonna get the CIA to scrub our records clean.” He pointed at Serge. “Get the Old Bill off our asses.” Butcher pointed at Mother’s Milk. “Get you back to your girls.”

“How do we know you're telling the truth?” Hughie asked, glaring at Butcher as he stood beside Serge, Kimiko flanking the Frenchman’s other side protectively. 

Butcher stepped forward and he was too close, nearly nose to nose with Hughie. “734 Central Ave., Newark.”

“What does that mean?” Hughie crossed his arms. “Stop talking in fucking riddles and tell us the truth.”

“That's the address she gave me. It's linked to the blind bank account that smuggled that Supe cunt stateside.” Butcher glanced at the rest of the group, but then his eyes fixed back on Hughie. “And I'll bet you he's there.” Hughie worked his jaw, swallowing thickly around his anger. Butcher took that silence as a victory and stepped back, smirking at him. “Oh, my Lord. Ain't you twats lucky that I showed up, eh?”

Hughie felt the overpowering urge to punch Butcher and was grateful that the man stepped away, secure in his victory.

* * *

Hughie spat out blood, laying on the asphalt at Butcher’s feet. “You come between me and my missus again, I'll fucking kill you.” The man growled and Hughie glared up at him, watching the way Butcher climbed into Serge’s black van. 

Hughie forced himself to his feet, his palms sore from landing on the asphalt. “Hey, kid, you coming?” Mother’s Milk called from behind the wheel and Hughie turned, staring at the street for a long moment. He contemplated just… Running down the street, away from all of this.

But Serge was in the van. 

Hughie turned to the van and climbed in, closing the door behind him. Mother’s Milk drove and Hughie and Serge set to work securing Kimiko’s brother. Duct tape over his hands, his hands bound behind him, there were even chains wrapped around his legs and knees. 

Once the man was secured, Kimiko sitting on the floor of the van next to his head, her fingers tenderly stroking through his dark hair, Hughie looked at Serge.

Serge’s own fingers ran over his tender lower lip, swiping away blood before he moved to slide closer to Hughie on the seat, their fingers tangled together tightly as they watched Kimiko in the deafening silence of the van.

“That way, MM,” Butcher ordered, and it was the first thing to break the silence. Hughie glanced up to look out the window, turning his face away from Serge’s attempts to comfort him, to soothe over the pain that Butcher had inflicted on him in more ways than one. 

“The marina?” Serge asked, worriedly glancing out. “Butcher, are we stealing a boat?”

“Well we can’t very well keep him in the city, what if he escapes?” Butcher asked as they parked the van. He looked around the marina through the windshield then pointed to the first one that caught his eye. “That one. My Big Wet Dream, work your magic MM.”

Mother’s Milk stepped out of the van, leaving Hughie, Serge, Kimiko and her brother alone with Butcher. The man turned back to stare at them and Hughie met his eyes, silent as the grave as he reached down and took Serge’s hand in his own. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Hughie,” Butcher growled, glaring at him. “What would you do if you had found out Robin was being held in some fucking facility somewhere, eh? You think you’d quietly sit back and just let her be prisoner?”

Hughie swallowed and glared at Butcher quietly, refusing to answer.

“The fact of the matter is, I was right, Becca’s alive, and I need to find her and the Colonel is the only one who can find her and this is the only trade we have.” He gestured to the unconscious man on the floor. “Put yourself in my shoes, Hughie.”

“I was in your shoes,” Hughie whispered and Butcher looked at him. “Robin is gone. She’s not coming back. But you told me to leave Frenchie behind, to leave Mother’s Milk, to leave Kimiko. And you sit there telling me I was stupid.” He clutched at Serge’s hand even more tightly, out of Butcher’s sight, feeling the man grip his own hand back just as firmly. “You don’t get to be a hypocrite and tell me to abandon the m-man I love when you are over here risking our lives for your Becca.” Hughie looked away from Butcher. “Fuck you, Butcher.”

Butcher was staring at him, eyes fixed at the wall of the van and he felt Serge’s hand snake protectively around his waist. 

The doors opened and Mother’s Milk held up a folded piece of paper. “Holding documents and the computer registers that as being correct and accurate.” He tossed the paper at Butcher. “Congratulations, you’re the proud temporary Captain of My Big Wet Dream.”

Butcher snatched the papers and Hughie stepped out of the van alongside Serge. Butcher hefted Kimiko’s brother onto his shoulder, trying to be careful, and Kimiko hovered as she looked at him worriedly. 

“We need supplies for at least a couple of days,” Hughie said as he looked at Butcher, then back at the boat, avoiding looking at Serge, worried that he might shatter apart if he did. “I’ll go get food.”

“I will go with you,” Serge said firmly.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m going,” Serge started to walk and Hughie hesitated, wondering how much he was willing to stay with Butcher versus avoiding Serge. 

He followed the shorter man. There were several convenience stores nearby and they walked down the street to someplace that didn’t have a direct line of sight to the marina. The fluorescent lights cast violent and unflattering shadows across their faces. 

“Here,” Serge passed Hughie a six pack of energy drinks and Hughie couldn’t help but smile at the green packaging of the V drinks. “I know you hate Redbull.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He whispered.

“You never told me that Butcher told you to leave us,” Serge murmured as he grabbed a few bags of chips, beef jerky, and even some bread and peanut butter, Hughie carrying some of the selection in his own arms. “You should have told me.” Serge whispered as he perused the freezer meals, grabbing a few things randomly.

“I thought he was dead,” Hughie said simply. “And then I thought that he had just… Abandoned us anyway.” They stood at the back of the store and Hughie looked at Serge’s dark eyes, quiet and defeated. “By the time the first couple of months had passed I thought it wouldn’t matter.”

Serge stared at Hughie, his eyes soft and sad and understanding and it hurt worse than any anger could have.

“Now he’s back and he… He has the answers to everything, can fix everything.” Hughie couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. “Like nothing happened.”

They stood in the back silently, holding beer and snacks and energy drinks and cheap microwave meals that Serge would probably hate choking down, and after a moment of silence Serge stepped forward and kissed Hughie’s lips softly. “Think of Panama, mon coeur.” He whispered. “Think of the black sand and blue ocean and green trees.” Hughie closed his eyes and rested his head against Serge’s. “We will be there soon.” The man promised, and Hughie wanted so desperately to believe him.”


	12. Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did it,” Serge whispered, biting at Hughie’s lower lip softly. “This will be over soon. So soon.” His firm fingers tilted Hughie’s head back even more, trailing down the column of his throat, biting at the slight curve of his Adam’s apple. Hughie shivered, letting out a shuddering gasp into the air as Serge pressed a hard bite against the base of his neck. “Apologies for my jealousy, mon coeur, I didn’t know-” Serge was cut off by Hughie’s fingers curving over the back of his neck, holding him close. 
> 
> “I didn’t want you to know,” Hughie whispered, his throat tight as he swallowed and stroked his fingers over the base of Serge’s skull, feeling the familiar buzzed hair that had grown longer as of late. “I didn’t want you mixed up in it.”

“We did it.” Hughie whispered as he stared at the TV, the swaying of the boat beneath his feet making him feel even more unstable, even more thrown as he flicked through dozens of channels, all of them telling the breaking news story about Compound V. 

“Did what?” Mother’s Milk asked as he glanced between Hughie and the screen. “You did this?” 

The newscast droned on and Hughie smiled at Mother’s Milk who was watching him with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah. S-Starlight did, mostly, I'm pretty sure, but I just gave her an old…” He made a gesture of giving Annie a boost. “Alley-oop.”

“Hughie,” Mother’s Milk whispered, eyes wide and round before he grabbed at Hughie, pulling him into a tight hug. “Hughie, yes!”

“Okay,” Hughie laughed and hugged Mother’s Milk back, his skinny arms not even managing to wrap around the man’s broad shoulders.

“Hughie!” The man laughed again, drawing the attention of the other passengers on the boat. “Dude, look at what you fucking did!” He pulled back and gestured to the TV, Hughie stumbling as he laughed and looked back at the TV along with Mother’s Milk. “Oh, my God.”

“You lads touchin' yer tips?” Butcher called from the other side of the doorway to the main area of the boat and Hughie glared at him. Serge and Kimiko were peering around Butcher, pushing past the man to stand next to Hughie and look at the TV.

“Look at what the kid just did!” Mother’s Milk grinned as another news service told the story of Compound V and what it did to babies.

“Me and Starlight, but yeah,” Hughie smiled as Serge looked up at him in shock.

“The phone calls? They weren’t…”

“No, Serge,” Hughie whispered, smiling reassuringly as he hooked his pinky around Serge’s own, a soft gesture that felt too intimate to share with the others, but at the same time so small it didn’t matter. 

“The fucking kid-” Butcher started, only to make a face and reel back when Serge stood on his tip toes and grabbed at Hughie’s face, dragging the younger man down for a deep kiss. 

“Yes!” Serge practically crowed as Hughie wrapped his arms around Serge’s waist, giving him a tight hug that lifted him clean off his feet. 

“Nice one.” Butcher said as he looked away from Hughie and Serge, turning to leave the room.

Hughie was going to let it go, but Mother’s Milk stared at Butcher’s turned back, spreading his arms in confusion. “That's all you got?” Butcher paused, glanced over his shoulder. “We've been trying to do this shit for years. Vought's finally fucking going down, the kid did it, and "nice one"?”

“All right, real nice one,” Butcher scoffed, raising a brow at the group as if begging them to challenge him.

“You can't even give me this, can you?” Hughie asked, the first words he had spoken to Butcher since the man had punched him in the face two days before. He couldn’t help the wry laugh that escaped him as he shook his head. “Not one goddamn win.”

Butcher turned and stepped into Hughie’s personal space, Hughie pressing his hand to Serge to keep the other man out of Butcher’s reach. “I'll tell you what.” Butcher smirked as he looked down at Hughie despite the two of them being almost the exact same height. “When we're all done here, I'll buy you a nice, big, family size bottle of top-shelf lube and I'll tickle your balls till you beg me to stop and even then I won't.” His lip twitched into a meaner expression. “I just won't do it.” He turned to look over Hughie’s shoulder at the others. “But right now, we got a Supe terrorist below deck and shit could go sideways just like-” He snapped his fingers. “So all of ya, keep your fucking eyes on the ball, yeah?”

Butcher turned, leaving their presence, trying to escape the energy of the room, and Hughie felt his frustration with the man rising even more. 

“Don't worry about him.” Serge whispered, as he laced their fingers together tightly and then pulled back when Mother’s Milk gave Hughie’s shoulder a pat. 

“Yeah, fuck him.” Mother’s Milk gave Hughie’s shoulder a squeeze and made the younger man make eye contact with him. “You did great.”

Hughie turned his back to Butcher and smiled at Mother’s Milk before he was dragged along to the seats at the front of the boat. Mother’s Milk glanced at the two of them before he went to find Kimiko, most likely to make sure that they were okay, maybe to get them food. 

Serge immediately pushed Hughie onto the plush white seat, kissing him deeply as the younger man gasped in surprise at the sudden motion. It didn’t take much for Hughie to kiss Serge back. His anger was still simmering towards Butcher, his knuckles aching with the feeling of the man’s cheek against bone. He lifted the bruised hand to cup Serge’s face and draw him closer, parting his lips and feeling the slick press and slide of the Frenchman’s tongue against his.

“You did it,” Serge whispered, biting at Hughie’s lower lip softly. “This will be over soon. So soon.” His firm fingers tilted Hughie’s head back even more, trailing down the column of his throat, biting at the slight curve of his Adam’s apple. Hughie shivered, letting out a shuddering gasp into the air as Serge pressed a hard bite against the base of his neck. “Apologies for my jealousy, mon coeur, I didn’t know-” Serge was cut off by Hughie’s fingers curving over the back of his neck, holding him close. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” Hughie whispered, his throat tight as he swallowed and stroked his fingers over the base of Serge’s skull, feeling the familiar buzzed hair that had grown longer as of late. “I didn’t want you mixed up in it.”

“I am already mixed up in this,” Serge whispered, pulling back to cup Hughie’s jaw. “I want to be your partner, your confidant.” His thumbs traced over Hughie’s cheekbones, soothing him gently. “You have to tell me so that we can escape all of this the moment the time is right. We need to have our plan together, no surprises.”

“Yeah,” Hughie whispered, kissing at Serge’s lips, his chin, his jaw, drawing him closer. “Panama, remember?”

“Yes, Panama,” Serge smiled against Hughie’s lips. “Soon. Soon we can do whatever we want. We will be safe.”

Hughie held Serge close, tucking the man’s face against his neck and staring over his shoulder at the endless blue of the ocean, and imagined approaching a black sand beach with a green jungle behind it.

They only had to make it until Mallory could take Kimiko’s brother. 

—

Hughie grunted as he peeled his shirt, soaked in whale-blood and some of his own blood, off of his bruised body, unable to completely remove it as his limbs and torso protested the movement. He was sitting on the narrow little bed in the utility room, breathing deeply as the adrenaline finally wore off and he allowed himself to feel the pain. 

“Fuck,” He whispered as there was a knock on the door, trying to stand but failing to even manage to get his legs under him to get off the bed. After a moment Serge entered with Mother’s Milk’s first aid kit, giving Hughie a worried look before he placed the kit aside.

“Here, let me help.” The shirt had dried to the wounds and Hughie’s skin uncomfortably, so Serge wet a rag from the utility sink and began to hold it against Hughie’s shirt, carefully dampening every inch of fabric and skin until he could more easily pull the shirt off. “Oh, mon coeur, mon petit Hughie…” Serge looked down at the mess of bruises and Hughie tilted his head to look down as well.

His entire chest was purple, black, and blue, his arms in a similar state. Hughie didn’t even want to know what his back looked like. “She didn’t have any choice.” Hughie whispered before Serge could say anything else. The man carefully pressed an ice pack to Hughie’s chest, his shoulder, his bicep, and looked at Hughie’s eyes. “Homelander would have killed her then me, and what good would that have done anyone?”

“I am not upset at her actions,” Serge whispered. “You trust her, and so I do as well… But it was your face… You were ready to die.” Serge taped Hughie’s chest and bicep where there was some swelling. “I do not want you to die.”

“I’m just…” Hughie stared at Serge and after a moment he grasped the hand cupping his jaw, holding it in place. “Have you ever seen the music video for that Billy Joel song "You're Only Human"?”

Serge blinked, clearly thrown for a loop by this sudden tangent, and shook his head. “Non, I have not.”

“There's this kid and he's climbing up a bridge and he's-he's gonna kill himself, but then Billy Joel steps out with his harmonica and tells him stop, you just have to wait for your second wind, and now I-I feel like I'm-I'm that kid and I'm gonna drown, and...” Hughie sniffled and choked as he stared up at Serge. “And thank God I found my second wind because it's-it's you.” He held Serge’s hand tightly against his face, turning into the warm, calloused palm, his cold, clammy face leaving smears of sweat and dried blood as he rubbed his cheek against Serge’s palm. “You're my second wind.”

Serge pressed his forehead to Hughie’s own and kissed him. Despite the fact that Hughie was sure he was still covered in whale debris, that he smelled vile from the bitter tang of adrenaline, sweat, and everything else that had coated his body in the last thirty-six hours. 

“Let’s go somewhere for the night, yes?” Serge whispered, stroking his palms over Hughie’s cheeks and jaw. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What about Butcher?” Hughie asked, just feeling so defeated. 

“Fuck Butcher,” Serge cupped Hughie’s face. “Someplace with a real shower, a real bed, get you away from here.” Hughie wondered what Serge had heard Butcher and Mother’s Milk talk about while Hughie had lagged behind. He had told Serge to go with Kimiko, to find her brother, but for those few moments where Hughie had limped along behind them, feeling exhausted and like he might just curl up in a corner of that sewer and let himself expire, he wondered what Butcher had said in Serge’s presence. 

“What about Kimiko?” Hughie asked weakly. 

“MM will take care of her,” Serge whispered as he cupped the younger man’s face. “We have some time. The focus is on the so called supe terrorist, not on us.”

Hughie stared at Serge and after a moment he lunged forward, despite the aches and pains of his body, despite how exhausted he felt, and wrapped his hand around the back of the man’s neck. He ran his fingers over the familiar scar on the back of the man’s skull, pulling Serge closer to part his lips and deepen the kiss. It hurt that Butcher had been right, had been so close to prophetic about how shit could go sideways in an instant. 

But this…

“Please?” Hughie whispered, kissing him. “I want to leave.”

Serge nodded, pressing his lips to Hughie’s, only for both of them to jump when the door to the room opened and Butcher glared at them. 

“Need you two cunts to stop suckin’ each other off and get packed up for a job,” Butcher barked, though he had the decency to look guilty when he saw the bruises along Hughie’s side from where Hughie had tumbled out of the boat into the guts of the whale. 

“What job?” Hughie asked, his voice hard and his eyes cold as they fixed on Butcher. 

“Need you to hunt down this Liberty cunt,” He held out a magazine clipping, dropping it onto the foot of the bed next to Serge’s knee. It was a vintage Budweiser advertisement and the masked superhero smiling on it was declared to be Liberty, her costume obscured by an address written in black sharpie. “Mallory says she might know something about this. There’s the address.”

Hughie stared at the address scrawled across the surface. It would be at least a three day trip from New York to North Carolina and back.

“MM’s going with you,” Butcher said simply.

“What about Kimiko?” Hughie asked, looking up at him. “She… She just lost her brother.”

“She’ll live. I got shit to do and she’s a big girl.” Butcher glared at them. “Get packed up, you’re going.”


	13. Rapture by Blondie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And for a moment nothing mattered. Butcher didn’t matter, Liberty didn’t matter, Vought or supes, nothing mattered except for the two of them, curled up on a cheap motel bed.
> 
> It wasn’t a black sand beach in Panama, but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence! I started up university again and am working at the same time, so I ended up with very little free time to write this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it regardless!

“Hey,” Hughie shuffled as he smiled at Annie. “Thanks for showing up last minute.”

“It’s okay, I wanted to get out of there anyway,” Annie looked him over, biting her lip when she saw the bruises working their way across Hughie’s chest beneath the collar of his shirt. “Oh, you’re so bruised.” She whispered, peeling back some of the shirt. Hughie flinched, but tried to contain it. “That was all me?”

“It’s fine, it’s okay,” Hughie smiled weakly at her. “I mean… Serge digs bruises.” He really didn’t, not when he wasn’t the one to leave them, but that was beside the point. “You know, I was in - when I was in fifth grade I took a tetherball to the face and Amy Burtenshaw brought me Jell-O Pudding Pops for like… Two weeks. So it’s kinda like that.” Hughie shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m talking way too much, sorry.”

“I could’ve killed you,” Annie’s eyes were so sad as they looked up at him and Hughie couldn’t stand that. 

“But you didn’t,” Hughie smiled. “I… That’s why I’m asking you to do a big favor for me.” He held out picture of Kimiko. It was printed from Serge’s phone and depicted her smiling as she proudly held up her precise, practiced handwriting declaring her name. “Kimiko has vanished into thin air. Her brother got killed by Stormfront and she’s been… She’s been off. Serge and I are going out of town for a bit, can’t tell you where, but I need you to keep an eye on Stormfront. If she gets ahold of Kimiko then… I don’t want to think what she’d do to her.”

“Gotcha,” Annie looked at the photo. “I need to get out of Vought Tower anyways.” 

“Hey…” Hughie rested his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Annie stared down at her shoes and sighed. “So, we got the Compound V out there, and Vought is still kicking.” She chewed her inner cheek and sighed. “So we risked our lives just to make the world way worse.”

“Yeah, but no, no, no.” Hughie knew that feeling, but he couldn’t let Annie wallow in it as well. The feeling of an endless fight, a Sisyphean effort on their end. “That's not true. I mean, you know, these things, they...” He tried to think of a palatable lie. “Look, Annie, they take time.”

Annie looked up at him and she looked just as tired as he felt. “How much time?”

Hughie looked at her and then reached into his wallet. His savings had been long gone, but he had managed to learn how to skim ATMs. His face was already plastered all over the news and city, so it didn’t matter where he was seen, he was never seen in the same place twice. He passed over a thousand dollars. “Here, take this, buy some RF shielding from Frys and then go to a Motel. Line the ceiling with it and you’ll be safe until we get back and can remove your chip, okay?”

Annie looked up at him then gave him a tight hug. “Thank you, Hughie.” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion. 

Hughie wasn’t able to respond as his phone went off with Serge’s ringtone. “I gotta go, Annie.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head as he released her. “You be safe, keep an eye on Stormfront, if you can get Kimiko to go to the motel with you, do that.” He ran his hands over her arms. “I’ll be back in three days. I promise.”

“Okay,” She smiled at him quietly. “I’ll find Kimiko and keep an eye on her.”

Hughie answered his still ringing phone and turned away from Annie, “Hey.”

“We’re waiting up at the park entrance,” Serge said simply. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Serge,” Hughie whispered, smiling as he waved at Annie and walked towards the park entrance. 

Serge and Mother’s Milk were in the front seats of the car and Hughie smiled, leaning over the other man’s shoulder to deliver a quick kiss as he settled into the back with their bug-out bags. 

They were well on the way, out of New York City, when Mother’s Milk spoke up. “It’s still weird when you two do that shit.”

“What shit?” Serge asked as he lit a cigarette, rolling down his window so as not to annoy their driver.

“Act like a real couple,” Mother’s Milk said simply as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“Ah, but you remember what it was like when you first married your Monique,” Serge grinned at the man. “When you stopped being a player.”

“What, what, MM was a player?” Hughie leaned forward, grinning as he listened. “What’s this?”

“Oui, oui, Mother’s Milk here had a new woman every week.”

“Says the dude who had a new bedmate every night without any care for what was between their legs and what venereal disease they might have had.”

Serge scoffed. “Do you discriminate against wine just because it is different? How dull to spend an entire life drinking only one vintage.”

Hughie flushed at the reminder that Serge had certainly been much more adventurous than Hughie had ever been in his lifetime. He rested his hand on the back of Serge’s neck, his knuckles rubbing over the vertebrae lightly. 

“I still think it is not right to leave Kimiko behind,” Serge murmured after several minutes of silence. 

“She needs time, man,” Mother’s Milk sighed, though it was clear in his tone that he agreed with Serge. “She just lost her brother and she’s processing that.”

“What if she tries to kill Stormfront?” Serge asked as he reached back to touch and fidget with Hughie’s fingers resting against his neck. 

“Annie is taking a few days to stay out of the Seven Tower, she’s going to be keeping an eye on Kimiko.” Hughie provided gently, rubbing his thumb over Serge’s shoulder blade gently.

“Starlight?” Serge asked, his tone turning even more worried as he glanced back at Hughie. “What about Butcher?”

“Butcher’s fucked off somewhere,” Hughie scowled, clearly quietly resentful at Butcher’s sudden abandonment once more. Even if he was leaving them because he found Becca, they had a job to do, and once more he was leaving them to finish it. “He’s not going to be here, so why leave Kimiko on her own? Annie will keep an eye on her from a distance and if she tries anything then Annie can keep her from doing anything she’d regret.”

Serge nodded, breathing deeply before he turned and kissed Hughie’s knuckles. “Merci, mon coeur.”

They drove in silence for a few long moments before Hughie asked, “Can we put on some music?”

* * *

“Do you really want to spend the night in the same room as the two of us, MM?” Serge asked with a smirk that made Hughie flush from sheer embarrassment. “Unless you are into that sort of thing-”

“Jesus, okay, I’ll take my own bed and you two can fuck like rabbits on the other side of the wall, but I better not hear shit, you understand me?” Mother’s Milk climbed out of the car, and glared at them. He made his way up to the motel entrance, his sunglasses firmly in place even as he opened the door. Hughie waited until Mother’s Milk was in the reception area of the motel before he glanced at Serge. 

“Couldn’t you have at least pretended we weren’t going to spend the entire night having sex?” Hughie sighed as he rested his elbows on the back of Serge’s seat. The older man grinned and tilted his head back lazily, pressing his lips to Hughie’s chin in an aborted attempt at a kiss.

“Oui, but it is more fun to rile up MM this way,” Serge laughed as he turned so that he could lean over and steal a kiss from Hughie’s frowning mouth. It was a gentle movement of lips against his and Hughie kissed back softly after half a moment of resistance. “We only have two nights, so we should have our fun.”

Hughie kissed Serge back, still leaning over the back of the passenger side seat. He reached out to cup Serge’s jaw in his palms. 

“Okay, okay, you two, here’s your damn room key,” Mother’s Milk tossed the key at Hughie’s head and Hughie pulled back when the plastic of the key tag hit his temple then bounced onto the car seat. “At least get in there before you start getting nasty.”

“Thanks, MM,” Hughie tossed the man his own duffle bag before grabbing his and Serge’s backpacks. He checked the key number and glanced around. “Ground floor?”

“Corner rooms, both of them, back to back,” Mother’s Milk waited until the two of them were out of the car before he locked it, keeping pace with Hughie and Serge as the three of them made their way to the rooms. 

“No connective doors?” Serge asked as he glanced at the placement of the rooms. 

“No, so if some shit goes down you run and don’t look back,” Mother’s Milk said simply. “I’ll do the same.”

Hughie hoped that tonight, of all nights, nothing went horribly wrong. 

The room was small, dingy, but cleaner than the basement they had been living in. Hughie immediately stripped down, not caring that Mother’s Milk was still in the doorway. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Hughie!” Mother’s Milk looked away and Hughie rolled his eyes. 

“What, like you’re not thinking of having a real shower?”

A pause, then silence and when Hughie turned, Serge was closing the door and smirking at him. “That was a fast way to get rid of him.”

“He’s gone six months with scant showers, I don’t think his OCD can handle a minute more.” As if to prove his point the pipes in the wall separating the two rooms rumbled, causing the two men to laugh. “You know.” Hughie drew Serge close, kissing him gently as the shorter man stood on his tip toes to reach Hughie’s lips. “You should come shower with me.”

“I will be there in a moment, let me prepare something,” Serge smiled up at Hughie, biting at the younger man’s lower lip roughly as he lost his balance and returned to flat on his feet. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Hughie stretched and turned, showing off the scarred line of his back as he bent to gather up a bottle of shampoo and body wash from his backpack. He could feel Serge’s eyes on him as he made his way to the bathroom, a feeling that made his stomach flutter with pride that he could still be so attractive to his lover. It had been so long since they had had any form of He didn’t bother closing the door as he turned on the bathroom as he stepped into the shower and turned it on. The freezing cold water soon turned scalding hot and Hughie started with his shampoo and worked his way down. Hair, face, neck, shoulders, chest and groin, down his legs, even scrubbing at his feet with the hotel-provided washcloth. He was in the process of doing a second wash of his hair when Serge stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. 

Hughie rinsed his hair and smiled as Serge looked up at him, the shorter man leaning up on his tip toes so that he could kiss Hughie, pulling Hughie down to meet him. Their lips met, parting to press tongues together and Hughie couldn’t hold back to soft moan that escaped him at the feeling. When Serge pulled back briefly, Hughie felt the familiar hard shape of a pill. He tilted his head, swallowed some of the water flowing from the showerhead, and breathed deeply as he ran his tongue over his teeth and the soft flesh of his inner cheek, checking to make sure he had swallowed the pill as well. 

“What was that?” He asked, and he wondered when he had become the sort of person to accept random pills being pressed into his mouth. Probably around the same time he had become a man who slept with other men.

“A surprise.” Serge purred, kissing Hughie. “You’ll enjoy it.”

They cleaned up, Serge letting Hughie scrub some of the kid’s shampoo into his own buzzed hair, Hughie laughing as they kissed and ran soapy hands over one another’s bodies. 

“Come on, I got something for you,” Hughie murmured as he bit at Serge’s lower lip. They stepped out of the shower, dripping as they walked across cheap carpet. Serge sat on the edge of the bed and Hughie rummaged through his bag, coming up with a plastic box from the pawnshop. He had spent hours sterilizing the blades, fixing the ruined charging cord, and when he plugged the clippers into the wall they quickly buzzed to life. 

Serge held up a pre-rolled joint from his metal cigarette case, Hughie smiling at the sight of Hello Kitty encrusted in pink, white, and red rhinestones on the metal case. Hughie took the joint, accepting a light from Serge before he breathed deeply and passed the joint back down. “Come on, your hair is getting too long.”

It was barely half an inch, but it still looked strange. 

There was something soothing about standing in the dim light of the motel room, a joint passed back and forth between them until Serge was crushing the burnt end of the rolling paper between his fingers, Hughie focused on carefully clipping Serge’s hair until he looked more well groomed. Hughie smiled, leaning forward to kiss at the scar on the back of Serge’s head. 

He could feel the beginnings of whatever cocktail Serge had slipped him, and as they leaned back onto the bed the older man flicked on the TV until he found a rerun of The Golden Girls. Hughie smirked as he kissed Serge, drawing him close and distracting him from the laugh track and voices of actors on screen. Hughie’s drug-hazed mind focused on the artistic lights and shadows cast over Serge’s body from the flickering TV, his lips trying to trace and catch those shadows that moved as quickly as hummingbird wings over the other man’s body. 

“Baise-moi, s'il te plaît, Hughie,” Serge groaned as he leaned back onto the bed, dragging Hughie’s unstable body with him. The two of them collapsed on the bed and Hughie bit and kissed over Serge’s chest, stomach, sucking dark marks into warm skin. “Baise-moi.”

Hughie shivered as he felt a sudden heat burning through his body, making him pant and groan as sparks exploded from his vision. “You’re a deviant.” Hughie laughed as he kissed over Serge’s stomach, the crease of where his thigh met his groin. 

“You enjoy it,” Serge laughed, his fingers tangled in Hughie’s hair, holding tightly. “Fuck me,”

“I’m not nearly ready for that-”

Hughie gasped as Serge’s leg pressed between his own, grinding up against Serge’s shin. “Non, fuck me with your cock.” 

Hughie felt his skin burning as he groaned and leaned in to kiss the other man. It didn’t take much more encouragement than that. There was some fumbling and Hughie wasn’t sure who grabbed the lube from Serge’s bag, but soon Hughie’s fingers were pressed into the warmth of Serge’s body. 

“Merde! Putain, c'est serré,” Serge gasped, shivering as he rolled onto his stomach, arching his back to get a better angle. Hughie kissed at the small of the other man’s back, working him open before he straightened and pressed his chest to Serge’s shoulders. “It’s been a long time.” Serge moaned as he clutched at the blankets, his breath hitching when Hughie pressed his cock inside the other man. “Ah! Yes, that’s good. Dieu, j'ai raté ça.”

Hughie groaned as he panted and waited for Serge to relax, feeling the other man shudder and rock back against him. The two of them knelt on the bed, sweating and groaning quietly as they rode out their highs, their aching bodies burning with whatever drug cocktail Serge had mixed for them. It didn’t take much waiting for them to begin impatiently moving against one another, and when Hughie started a rough, fast pace Serge choked out a low, drawn-out noise of pleasure. 

“Fuck, Serge, you feel so good,” Hughie whined, biting and kissing at Serge’s shoulder and neck, drawing new noises from the other man. He stared at Serge’s hand clutching at the sheets, and reached out, grasping at Serge’s wrist before he tangled their hands together, feeling the way Serge’s fingers gripped his own hand with bruising force. Hughie felt the burning heat moving through his body faster and faster, his vision sparking and dancing and swimming until he threw his head back and let out a gasping noise, quietly pressing a kiss to Serge’s neck as his free hand grasped Serge’s hip, dragging him close so that their hips were fully flush together.

“Hughie,” Serge whined and Hughie bit at his shoulder, reaching down to stroke the other man’s hard length, feeling clumsy, but the heady warmth of his high more than making up for the embarrassment he felt at his lack of coordination. When Serge came the shorter man arched and groaned, pressing his back to Hughie’s chest as he panted and caught his breath. Their heads tilted in unison, panting shared breath into one another’s mouths as they kissed and relaxed, slowly separating in order to lay back on the bed and curl close, their heads tilted to half-watch The Golden Girls still playing reruns on the screen.

“I love you,” Hughie whispered softly. “I love you so much.”

Serge looked up at him and for a moment his high loosened his tongue and he whispered a soft, “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” Hughie whispered, smiling as he kissed Serge. “I love you.” He repeated, pressing the words into the other man’s lips.

Serge kissed Hughie back, whispering against his lips, “Je t’aime.”

And for a moment nothing mattered. Butcher didn’t matter, Liberty didn’t matter, Vought or supes, nothing mattered except for the two of them, curled up on a cheap motel bed.

It wasn’t a black sand beach in Panama, but it was enough.


	14. Fox On The Run by Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie sighed and glanced over towards the area of the basement where Serge was rummaging, looking for a particular tool in his collection of them. “Because I don’t want him to think he can pull this shit on me again.” Hughie rubbed at his eyes. “After all of this is over, Serge and I are leaving and I don’t want him showing up in eight years to ruin everything.”
> 
> Mother’s Milk looked at the others in the basement, scattered and exhausted. “Word of advice? Don’t get too comfortable in whatever new life you build.” He sighed and carefully leaned back, trying not to jostle his wounded shoulder. “Make sure to keep moving around so he has to go on some goose chases to find you.”

Hughie clawed at Black Noir’s arm and wondered if this was how he’d die. 

He was glad Serge wasn’t there, that he couldn’t see this. That he didn’t know that Hughie was dying because he was too stupid to let well enough alone and let Butcher fuck off to his Aunt’s house and take his dog and fuck off to wherever else he wanted to go. Hughie felt his life flashing before his eyes, could see it like skipping across a DVD, clips and bits of scenes as he tried to find his favorite part. 

There was his dad, Anthony and Robin laughing, there was high school graduation, shaking hands with Gary for the first time, there was Robin, Robin, Robin, Robin, there was A-Train saying he couldn’t stop, the feeling of Robin’s hands in his, there was blue, so much blue, there was brown, darkness, and then there was Serge. 

Serge, Serge, Serge’s smile, Serge laughing, a Hello Kitty PEZ dispenser on a hotel nightstand, Serge smoking a joint, shirtless, holding a gun, coating a bullet in carbon meta-material, Serge kissing him deeply, desperately, snapping surgical gloves onto his hands, snapping surgical gloves off his hands, Serge’s arm around his waist in the fairgrounds, sunlight warming him where Serge’s warmth couldn’t reach, Serge meeting his dad, Serge smiling at him in a cage, Serge wounded, Serge letting him change his bandages, Serge manufacturing meth and heroin and MDMA, Serge’s eyes staring at him apologetically, Serge on a boat in the middle of the ocean, Serge tending to Hughie’s wounds, Serge on a motel bed gasping as he pressed his face to the covers, Serge, Serge, Serge, Serge-Serge-Serge-Ser-

Air. The Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah.

Hughie gasped as he fell to the ground, his ears ringing as Butcher took his place, Black Noir gripping the other man’s throat, holding him in place as he passed a cell phone to Butcher. 

He didn’t hear anything from the cell phone, but he heard Butcher’s threats, heard his promises to ruin Vought. He hoped that Butcher wasn’t bluffing. Their lives were a high stakes gamble to take.

“Oi, Missus wants a word,” Butcher grunted at Black Noir.

In seconds the supe had listened, and then dropped Butcher, walking away calmly, as if he hadn’t nearly choked the life out of the other man. 

Hughie and Butcher stared at one another, both of them panting as they stayed on their hands and knees, trying to recover from nearly dying. 

“Jesus Christ, Billy!” Judy gasped as she stared at the state of her living room.

* * *

“We bought ourselves some time,” Butcher said as he taped his own chest, refusing to let Mother’s Milk touch him while Serge tended to their wounds. Hughie was bruised, and he was fairly sure he had a cracked rib, but overall he was certainly the least injured of the group. Serge was cauterizing Mother’s Milk’s shoulder wound as he scowled and bit his cheek to keep silent. 

Hughie wasn’t sure what to expect from Serge’s anger. It was such a rare sight to see Serge expressing any form of true rage, but this… Clearly something had bothered Serge about the situation. 

“So what do we do?” Hughie asked, his voice still hoarse from the rough treatment of earlier. 

“I don’t know,” Butcher confessed. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, but we’ve got time to figure it all out.”

Hughie’s cell phone went off and he groaned as he reached back to slide it out of his pocket. His fingers fumbled the plastic case and Serge reached down to pull the phone free. 

“It is Starlight,” Serge held the phone out to Hughie, who nodded and accepted it. 

“Hughie,” Annie didn’t even wait for Hughie to greet her. “I found something in Stormfront’s laptop.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Hughie held the phone out and tapped speaker. “You’re on speaker, what did you find.”

“Emails, tons of emails between Stormfront and Stan Edgar, I didn’t get to see much, but I got a name: The Sage Grove Center.”

“Sage Grove?” Mother’s Milk frowned. “Anything else? Any idea what they’re doing there?”

“No, she came in while I was looking,” Annie paused, then said softly. “I can’t stay here. I need my tracking chip out ASAP.”

“What happened?” Hughie asked, worry causing his heart to clench tightly. “Are you okay?”

“She knows I’m the one that leaked Compound V to the press, and Homelander wants me dead anyway. I don’t want to see how long it takes Stormfront to encourage him to kill me.”

Hughie glanced at the group and Serge frowned for a moment before he immediately moved to rummage through his tools. “Okay, Annie, I’ll text you with an address, just standby.”

“Okay, gotta go.” 

The connection cut out and Hughie looked up at the group. “Okay… What do we do?” He looked at Butcher, who was glaring at him murderously. “She got us a lead at least.”

“She’s a supe. Never trust a supe,” Butcher growled. 

“Says the man who sat there eating takeout and gossiping about supes with Kimiko,” Hughie shot back. He stood, feeling the ache of his back where Black Noir had slammed him into Judy’s mantle. 

Butcher stood, limping away as Hughie sat with Mother’s Milk, rubbing at his eyes while the other man watched him. 

“Why’re you poking the bear, man?” Mother’s Milk asked and Hughie let his hands drop, looking up at the other man quietly. “I get it, Butcher is a son of a bitch, but why do you keep fucking with him?”

Hughie sighed and glanced over towards the area of the basement where Serge was rummaging, looking for a particular tool in his collection of them. “Because I don’t want him to think he can pull this shit on me again.” Hughie rubbed at his eyes. “After all of this is over, Serge and I are leaving and I don’t want him showing up in eight years to ruin everything.”

Mother’s Milk looked at the others in the basement, scattered and exhausted. “Word of advice? Don’t get too comfortable in whatever new life you build.” He sighed and carefully leaned back, trying not to jostle his wounded shoulder. “Make sure to keep moving around so he has to go on some goose chases to find you.”

* * *

Serge pressed the trigger of the surgical saw, making it whir angrily as he checked it over. They were in the back surgical suite of a veterinary office. Dogs and cats and other animals made their noises in the other room, the sounds filtering through the walls to the trio prepared to cut into Annie.

“Will it get through my skin?” Annie asked nervously as she watched Serge pull his goggles over his eyes.

“If it can't, nothing can,” Serge said simply as he moved to lower the saw to her shoulder.

“Okay, I-I just feel like I need to say something,” He interjected, as he held the cloth to catch the tracking chip. Annie and Serge looked at him in unison and he cleared his throat. “I don't think this is a good idea.” He wasn’t sure if he was referencing removing the chip entirely, or having Serge, who was clearly some level of jealous of Annie, having something that could potentially kill her in his hand.

“Stormfront knows I leaked the V,” Annie said as she glanced away from Serge. She seemed nervous as well, but probably for different reasons than Hughie. 

“Yeah, but she hasn't come after you,” Hughie wondered just how long he could postpone this, but the walls were closing in, and everyone in the cramped little veterinary office could feel it. 

“Yes... But that makes it so much worse. That means that she has some fucked-up plan for me,” Annie took a deep breath to steel herself then looked at Serge. “I need this chip out now.”

“I understand, Petit Hughie,” Serge said with a smirk. “And though you've been covered with entrails of many a person, even a sea mammal... it's always harder when it's someone you love.”

“What?” Hughie choked out as he looked at Serge.

“L'amour-” Serge began, his eyes glinting with a teasing look. Hughie bit his inner cheek briefly as he elbowed at Serge gently, careful not to jostle the surgical saw towards Annie. 

“Yeah, you know it’s a platonic love. She’s the sister I never had,”

“Okay, can we just do this already before I change my mind?” Annie interrupted, breathing deeply as she reached down to grasp the edge of the surgical table. “Please?”

Serge pulled the trigger and the drill whirred once more as he grabbed the microchip detector that was usually used on animals in order to locate the chip. After he had found it, he marked the spot with a pen tip, and lowered the spinning blade to the flesh. “This might sting a little.”

“Okay-” Annie shouted in surprise when the blade made contact, gritting her teeth as she groaned. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“There we go,” Serge whispered as he cut through the flesh, blood spattered across his face and goggles before he grabbed his tweezers, racing against Annie’s healing factor in order to fish around and grab the chip. When Serge pulled out the small metal capsule he grinned and held it up for Hughie and Annie to see. “Bonjour, my little spy.”

Hughie stared at the capsule, then at Serge, and smiled. “You’re amazing.”

“Oui, I am,” Serge smiled as he placed the capsule aside. “Now. I need a dog.”

“What?”

“To send Vought on a wild goose chase,” Serge said simply as he turned to go into the office. He came back with a small, fluffy Pomeranian with a rhinestone collar. “Look at this, her name is Starlight.”

Annie laughed as she held a patch of gauze to her neck to staunch the bleeding. “That can’t be true.” Serge held out the dog, who barked and growled and snapped at Hughie’s fingers as he checked her tag. “Holy shit.” He said, turning it for Annie to see. “Starlight.”

The three of them were still for a moment before they snorted and laughed. Serge was still snickering when he loaded the capsule into the applicator, then grasped some of the Pomeranian’s scruff and inserted the needle end of the applicator. “There we go.” The dog yelped and cowered and Serge gave her a soft kiss on her fluffy head. “Toutes mes excuses, Starlight.” He gathered the whimpering dog into his arms. “But we need you to distract Vought.”


	15. Desperado by The Eagles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Hughie pried his eyes open, staring at the flourescent lights moving above him. “Surgery?” He managed to ask.
> 
> “Non, petit Hughie,” Serge’s voice whispered and Hughie forced his eyes to the side. Serge was guiding his gurney and Hughie could see Mother’s Milk’s arm in his periphery as the man pushed him through the hospital. “We’re going someplace safe.”

Hughie wasn’t sure if he wanted to be inside the hospital or outside. Not when there was potential for Annie and Butcher to try killing each other and Serge was inside Sage Grove… Without him.

Hughie knew he shouldn’t worry about Serge. There was a very slim chance that he would not be able to make it out, whether it was through escape or the plan going smoothly. He also knew that he’d worry about the other man anyway, always and forever, no matter whether they had rid the world of Vought and Supes or if they just packed their meager possessions and ran. 

“You see ‘em?” Hughie called to Butcher, the man standing as he stared down his rifle scope at the others as they made it through the electrified fence. 

“Yeah, I see ‘em,” Butcher growled, and Hughie waited for a moment to hear either the pull of the trigger or the click of the safety.

Click.

Hughie breathed a bit easier. He waited, his arms crossed nervously as he breathed and watched for Annie to come back. When she returned Butcher merely growled an order at her, ignoring her offer of help as he jumped off the roof of Serge’s van. 

“Seriously?” Annie asked, and Hughie felt short-lived relief dissipate into fear. “What is your problem with me?”

Butcher turned away, refusing to look at her, and Hughie knew that the fight that was about to happen could become deadly. “I ain't got no problem with you, love.”

“Really? That's why you won't even touch my hand?” Annie snarled as she stood too close to Butcher’s space for safety.

“Okay, guys, come on. Not the time,” Hughie tried to interject, tried to rest his hand on Annie’s shoulder, only to jump at the burning heat radiating from her bones as her anger activated her power. Not enough to show, but enough to be a warning.

“You know what? No. I think it's exactly the right time. I think the time is long overdue,” Annie squared up, like she was going to fight Butcher then and there, throw the first punch in a boxing ring. “You know that I hate Vought as much as you do. You know that. But it doesn't even matter to you because what you can't stand is in my blood.” Hughie tried to get between them, but Annie shouldered him out of the way, forcing Butcher to look down at her as she sneered at him. “I'm subhuman to you. Only good Supe is a dead Supe, right?”

Butcher smirked as he looked down at her. “Your words, not mine.”

“That's enough,” Hughie tried to sound stern, but the personalities of the other two members of their fucked up little band ignored him. 

“You know what? Underneath all that swagger, you're just a bigot and a bully.” Hughie could hear Annie’s words before they even left her and he desperately tried to grasp the back of her shirt to pull her away from a bad decision. “I know another guy just like that. He's got a flag for a cape.”

“Annie, stop!” Hughie grabbed her arm, ignoring the heat pouring through her skin fever-hot, and dragged her out of Butcher’s reach as best as he could.

Whatever fight might have occurred was interrupted by the taste of electricity on the air and the crackle of it as Stormfront herself flew overhead then landed in front of Sage Grove.

“Shit,” Hughie whispered weakly, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Butcher growled before he looked over. “Hughie, call them. Now.”

Hughie nodded and dialed. 

Serge didn’t answer.

“Shit!” Hughie whispered as he dialed again, then again. He tried Mother’s Milk, who also ignored the call, then tried Serge again. “Fuck, no one’s answering.” Hughie tried Mother’s Milk one more time, closing his eyes and whispering softly. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be caught, please don’t be dead, please don’t be caught.” Mother’s Milk answered and before he could say anything Hughie blurted out. “Stormfront’s there, you gotta get out.”

“That’s not all who’s here.” Mother’s Milk said. “We’ll be out in a bit, we gotta get the hard drives.”

“Be careful,” Hughie whispered. “We’ll be waiting.” He climbed into the driver’s side, not bothering to buckle himself in as he turned over the engine and climbed through to the back. He opened the side panels and crouched, waiting for the others to arrive so that they could make a quick getaway. The plan hadn’t gone well so far, but that didn’t matter. 

When the sound of alarms and sirens going off echoed across the empty lawn, Hughie felt his heart leap to his throat. 

He didn’t know what he believed, but all he could eve think to do was ask whatever divine power that might be looking down at his fucked up situation and feel a modicum of mercy to keep Serge safe.

“What the hell..” Butcher whispered and Hughie turned away from where he was watching the building itself. There was a young man, probably Hughie’s age or younger, standing in white sweats. He looked exhausted and Hughie wondered what had been done to him that he looked so tired. “Easy does it, lad. No trouble from us.” Butcher held up a hand. “You just stroll on by, yeah?”

The man looked at them, and Hughie recognized that look. It was the same look Kimiko had given back in those early days. “I don't want them to hurt me again.”

“Oh, nah. No one's gonna hurt you, son,” Butcher held out his hand to the young man. “Uh... we're all friends here, aren't we?”

The man looked at them, nodding, and he looked like he was about to move when he groaned and his shoulders rolled in on themselves. Hughie frowned, wondering if he was feeling sick. 

Only to be hit with a sudden invisible force that sent him and the van rolling across the lawn. There was pain, sudden and sharp, like being thrown into a wall over and over and when the van stopped he laid on the floor inside, panting weakly.

His ears were ringing and he felt like he might throw up, but through it all he could hear Butcher and Annie’s voice calling for him. 

He climbed out of the car, stumbling slightly as he stared dizzily at the two. 

“Hughie!” Butcher stood in front of him, looking worried for the first time since Hughie had known him. 

“Are you all right?” Annie asked and Hughie’s eyes turned towards her, feeling like a bobble head as he stood, unstable and shaky. 

“Yeah.” He whispered. “Fine. Uh...” And then everything was hazy.

“Hughie? Hughie!”

He didn’t know what was happening, he heard Butcher and Annie’s voices, worried and rushed, but couldn’t make out words. When he was shifted, hefted against Butcher’s lean side, he came to just enough that his eyes could flutter and open further. 

“Come on!” Butcher barked.

“What about the others?” Annie asked.

“They're on their own.”

No, Serge, Hughie couldn’t leave him.

* * *

He was moving. 

“What?” Hughie pried his eyes open, staring at the flourescent lights moving above him. “Surgery?” He managed to ask.

“Non, petit Hughie,” Serge’s voice whispered and Hughie forced his eyes to the side. Serge was guiding his gurney and Hughie could see Mother’s Milk’s arm in his periphery as the man pushed him through the hospital. “We’re going someplace safe.”

Hughie looked up at Serge and tried to find words, but all he could do was reach down and grasp at the other man’s wrist. “Serge.” He whispered, and the other man laced their fingers together, kissing at Hughie’s knuckles softly. 

“Rest, Hughie, we’ll be someplace safe soon.”

Hughie drifted off at the order, his eyes closing as sounds filtered out to nothing. He could feel movement, but not direction as he was carried or where they were going. When he finally came to he was in the back of an ambulance, Mother’s Milk and Kimiko leaning against one another to sleep while Serge stood guard over them. 

“Butcher?” Hughie asked weakly. 

“With Madame Mallory,” Serge whispered. 

“Annie?”

“She went to speak with her mama,” Serge murmured as he stroked over Hughie’s hair, his pistol resting against his thigh, Serge’s finger off the trigger, but the safety was off. Hughie wondered if he’d have to use it.

“That’s good,” Hughie whispered, eyes closed. “What was going on in that facility?”

“They were manufacturing supes,” Serge whispered. “Butcher said that one had gotten through the fence and knocked over the van.”

“Is that how you got the ambulance?” Hughie asked, confused as he opened his eyes. “Did you guys kill an ambulance driver?”

“No, no, we stole this from Sage Grove,” Serge stroked his fingers over Hughie’s curls. “You need a shower.”

“I want a burger,” Hughie whispered, feeling himself drift off.

“What sort of burger?” Serge asked and Hughie could hear the smile in his voice. 

“59 Diner,” Hughie whispered. “With a milkshake.”

“What about onion rings?” Serge asked with a soft laugh. 

“They have the best onion rings… And chicken tenders.”

“What about steak?”

“Mmm… Steak,” Hughie pressed his face to Serge’s side. 

“I need to give you your antibiotics,” Serge said softly and Hughie frowned but straightened up despite the pulling of his stitches. Serge was preparing a hypodermic needle with a clear liquid and Hughie groaned. 

“Please tell me that’s happy fun time juice,” Hughie murmured as he watched the other man.

“I can give you some, as you say, happy fun time juice, when you’re no longer held together with stitches and medical tape.” Serge stroked his fingers over Hughie’s forehead, leaning in to steal a soft kiss. Hughie responded to it easily, kissing him happily until he felt the prick of the needle in his thigh. 

“Ouch!” Hughie whined, and Serge smiled down at him. 

“Je t’aime,” Serge murmured, kissing at Hughie’s pouting lips apologetically. 

“So that’s why you stab me?”

“With antibiotics, which you need.”

“Uh-huh,” Hughie murmured as he let Serge pull back to stare up at the man, taking in how tired Serge looked. “I hope I didn’t worry you.”

Serge stroked over Hughie’s fingers. “Butcher didn’t tell me until we delivered Lamplighter to Madame Mallory.”

Hughie’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Serge. He looked exhausted and there were new worry lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows. He smelled like sweat and antiseptic and when Hughie reached out to cup Serge’s cheek the man felt clammy to his touch. 

“Once we get through this… We leave,” Hughie whispered. “We leave Butcher behind, forget about him, and then we go to Panama.”

“He’ll never let us leave,” Serge sighed. “I know. Eight years ago I got mixed up with him and cannot escape.”

Hughie opened his mouth to respond, only for the doors to swing open and Grace Mallory and Butcher stood there.

“Come on, cunts, rise and shine.”


	16. We Didn't Start The Fire by Billy Joel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie looked at the man for a long moment before he said softly. “People will remember you. For bringing down Vought, for being a real hero.”
> 
> They stared at one another and after a moment Lamplighter opened his stupid mouth. “Wanna fuck? It might be the last thing I ever do.”
> 
> Hughie didn’t even hesitate as he said quickly, “No.”

“Colonel, you think the congresswoman is in danger?” Serge whispered and Hughie glanced over as Congresswoman Neumann walked out of Madame Mallory’s home, Lisa giving Butcher a few dirty looks as she left. Hughie pulled his hoodie on, stumbling as he slid off the countertop where Mother’s Milk had been tending to Hughie’s still-healing side. “She has her security detail.”

“Which will be useless if a Supe drops in,” Mallory said as she looked at Serge. “She's our best chance to nail Vought, but only if you keep her alive until the hearing.”

Serge looked wounded, but nodded as he and Kimiko grabbed Serge’s collection of dufflebags. “Oui, madame.”

“And, Serge,” Mallory called out as Serge moved to say goodbye to Hughie. “No abandoning your post this time.”

Serge stared at her before he nodded and whispered. “Oui, madame.”

There was a brief, awkward moment before Serge stepped towards Hughie, gently drawing him down for a kiss. “Hey.” Hughie whispered as he gently returned the kiss, cupping Serge’s cheeks and his shoulders hunched as if to protect them from the eyes of everyone else. “I'm-I'm all right. I'm coming with you.”

“You're in no shape to go anywhere,” Butcher barked as he stepped over, glaring at Serge, who was quicker to step back while Hughie refused to let go of the shorter man’s hand. Serge looked up at Butcher and Hughie clenched his fingers even more tightly around his lover’s. The defeated look in those dark eyes made Hughie want to pull him close and shield him from Butcher’s cutting gaze. “Besides, we got a very important job for you. We need you to look after our star witness.”

Hughie and Serge both glanced over into Mallory’s living room, where Lamplighter was sitting with a duffle bag full of pornography DVDs.

“Hey,” He called out without even looking away from the screen, lifting one of Mallory’s expensive beers up to his lips. “You guys want to watch Deep Does It in the Blowhole?”

Hughie could hear the porn actor distantly saying, “You ready to get wet?”

He looked weakly at Butcher. “I don't want to watch that... film.”

Butcher grinned at him. “It's a classic. You'll love it.”

Loud, lewd groaning came from the living room and Hughie looked down at Serge, who kissed his knuckles and murmured a soft, “I will be back soon, mon coeur.” Before he released Hughie’s hand and left. Mallory and Mother’s Milk were waiting on Butcher as they walked towards the door, and Hughie was left alone with…

“Come on, man, you’re missing the good part. Unless you want me to put on something gay?”

Hughie sighed. “I’m not gay.”

“Dunno, man, Mr. Marathon and I did some freaky stuff together, pretty sure I’m the expert here,” Lamplighter leaned back into his chair. 

“Seriously, dude, why would I watch porn with you? I don’t even know your real name,” Hughie stood in the doorway, trying to ignore the sounds emanating from Grace Mallory’s meticulously installed surround sound. The part of him that still remembered working at Gary’s store for nearly a decade had to admire how well everything was set up that Hughie could ear every slap of flesh and sound of tongue from the porno.

“Shawn,” Lamplighter peeled at the label of his beer bottle. “I’m dead anyway when I testify, at least I’ll have one person know my real name.”

That was… Significantly more pathetic than Hughie was expecting. 

He sighed, after a moment, and moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch the supe was sprawled out on. 

“Can’t we… Put a different one on?”

“Sure, how about Cucklander Comes Inside?”

“… Jesus Christ.”

* * *

Hughie stared at the discount porno version of Homelander fucking a completely naked woman on screen. “You know, you don't need the discs.” He murmured to Lamplighter as the man shifted through his duffle bag of DVDs. “You can just download these.” He felt strange watching porn on Grace Mallory’s TV, but Butcher had ordered him to stay.

“What do you want to watch next?” Lamplighter asked and Hughie felt his eyes widen at the lewd covers of the DVDs. “Uh, Translucent the Invisible Cock. Queen Maeve Pleasure Slave. Yeah. Big Black Noir. Oh. Starlight Pulls an A-Train.”

“I'm good. I'm good,” Hughie cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Lamplighter shrugged as he tossed the DVDs onto the coffee table, picking up his beer. “Different strokes, man.”

Hughie flinched at that. “Please don't say that in this context.”

The husband on screen said in a comically submissive tone, “I should just get up and leave.”

“But you like watching Homebanger fuck me, don't you?” The wife said and Hughie couldn’t stop his nose from wrinkling in disgust.

“You know, this isn't healthy, man. Y-You can't watch porn while the... sun's out,” Hughie wrapped his arms around his knees and held them to his chest tightly. 

“Look, if I get up at that hearing, I'm dead anyway,” Lamplighter snapped as he peeled at the label of his beer bottle. “What difference does it make?”

The woman’s moaning filled the room and Hughie cleared his throat before leaning back in his chair. “Okay.”

“Look, if it bothers you so much I have some gay shit.”

Hughie stiffened and glared at Lamplighter. “What makes you think that would be any better?”

“Look, I saw you with the the French guy,” Lamplighter scoffed. “Don’t act all offended, I’m not blind or stupid.”

Hughie looked at the screen and sighed. 

After a long moment of silence Lamplighter sighed, staring at the screen angrily. “Did you know I was a prodigy? A fucking prodigy. I lit my first fire at four. Burned my whole house down. My dad...” Lamplighter crumpled up the label he had peered off the beer bottle, stuffing it through the mouth of the bottle and watching it slosh around in the remaining dregs. “He was so proud. "My son's a Supe." I was gonna do great things.” Hughie felt some sympathy, despite himself, and hated himself for sympathizing with someone like Lamplighter. “I almost did. Now look at me. I'm like the cuck in the porn, sitting on the sidelines while the real heroes are out there doing the fucking.”

Hughie watched the screen for a few long moments, listening to the sounds of the porn without really processing anything. “You want to know why they left me to babysit you?” Hughie asked as he reached down and grabbed another lukewarm beer. 

Lamplighter scoffed, “Because you're useless?”

Hughie laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah. I’m useless.” He sighed and leaned back against the couch. “My mom... she, uh... Never mind.”

They stayed silent for a few long moment and Hughie could feel Lamplighter’s eyes on him. “What’s the point of not even telling me? I’m gonna be dead either way.”

For some reason that horrifying realization made Hughie feel better. “After... she was gone, I watched my dad do...” A soft laugh and Hughie rubbed at his eyes, his voice cracking as he thought of his father. “Fucking… nothing his whole life. But me... I thought I'd finally found... something.” He thought of Serge, of how this could be everything he needed to move on, about the sheer idea that maybe he could change things. “I thought I found what I was meant to do.” He thought of Butcher, thought of now that he was on the man’s radar he’d never escape it. Serge was right, there was no running away from Billy Butcher. “But it turns out I'm... shit at that as well.” Hughie laughed softly and looked at Lamplighter. “You're not the cuck. I'm... the cuck.”

A long silence, longer than the others, and then Lamplighter gave a small twitch of a smile. “Actually, you're worse. You're the cuck fluffer.”

* * *

Hughie’s teeth clenched as he rested his cheek on his knee, staring at the screen with growing horror.

“Fuck me, A-Train, fuck my brains out!”

“Okay, let’s just, um-” Hughie tried to reach for the remote again, only for Lamplighter to pick it up and stuff it down the side of the couch. Hughie felt his patience running out. “Look, as enlightening as these films are why are you so obsessed with them?”

Lamplighter was silent and the sound of wet slapping and theatrical moans and groans and Hughie resigned himself to getting no answer or conversation beyond their previous agreement that Hughie was the “cuck fluffer”.

“Because after all is said and done and they’re retired, just like me, then this is going to be all that’s left of them. Without the merchandise and marketing and everything, when they’re replaced with someone newer and flashier, then all people will remember about them is these stupid fucking pornos.”

Hughie looked at the man for a long moment before he said softly. “People will remember you. For bringing down Vought, for being a real hero.”

They stared at one another and after a moment Lamplighter opened his stupid mouth. “Wanna fuck? It might be the last thing I ever do.”

Hughie didn’t even hesitate as he said quickly, “No.”


	17. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie’s ears were ringing as he laid on the ground, staring up at Serge. Stormfront had taken off and the electric roar of her powers had sent Hughie sprawling on the ground. Serge’s mouth was moving, but Hughie couldn’t hear anything as he blinked glassily up at the other man, seeing his lips move but hearing no sound. “Fuck, fuck, Serge? I can’t hear anything.”

“Hey.” Hughie said breathlessly as Annie waited at the front of the pawn shop for him to get Aloysius to let her in. He grabbed at her hand the moment she entered and the two of them made a clipped pace down to the basement. 

“What's going on?” She asked, concerned as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the basement, she was getting better at adjusting to the room that was both too big, but too oppressive all at once. The Haitian Kings were packaging their drugs, pointedly ignoring The Boys as they did their work. 

“They've lost their minds.” Hughie said, gesturing to the others.

“The RPG releases an electromagnetic pulse on impact,” Serge said as he held up the franken-bomb that he had constructed over the course of the last day. “Should cut through Stormfront's plasma bolts.”

“How sure are you?” Butcher asked as he looked at their variety of weapons and tactics to kill The Seven. 

“It's a guesstimate,” Serge shrugged carelessly and Hughie felt his heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest. 

“So that's Stormfront,” Butcher looked up at Annie and gestured to her. “And thanks to Starlight, we know that Noir needs only a fuckin' tree nut. How about A-Train?”

“Got enough epinephrine here to blow up that motherfucker's heart,” Mother’s Milk held up a vial and a needle as he packed his medic’s bag.

“Hey, we can't just kill everyone,” Hughie protested as he looked at the group. He looked to Annie for support, but her expression said it all. Her own imprisonment had made her much more open to the idea of burning Vought to the ground.

“That is exactly what we're gonna do,” Butcher growled, staring at Hughie viciously. This had been an endless circle of argument for the last twenty-four hours and Hughie’s argument was sounding weaker and weaker by the moment.

“Listen, you heard Mallory. She said all we need is another witn-”

“Wile E. Coyote.” Serge interrupted him, turning to face Hughie, who blinked right back in surprise at the non-sequitur. “Always chases Roadrunner, always with an elaborate plan, always fails.” It was painful to admit, but Serge was right, as much as Hughie didn’t want to join this suicide mission, this might be the only way they could win this fight. “You know, I always say, "Why do this, Coyote? All you need is an AR-15, and 'meep-meep' no more.".” 

That was much more on-brand with Serge and it made Hughie smile briefly despite himself. 

“Exactly. See?” Butcher said with a smirk, poking his finger into Hughie’s forehead. “We're just gonna shoot Roadrunner in the fucking head.”

“That won't stop Vought!” Hughie snapped at Butcher, clenching his fists. “That-that won't stop Compound V. If you kill these Supes, then Vought's just gonna make a thousand more.”

“Yeah, and we're gonna top those cunts, too.” Butcher said, as if it was so simple, as if they might not all end up dead no matter what they did. 

“Great.” Hughie sighed, staring at the group. He was exhausted, but if this was the path Serge wanted to go down, he’d follow, regardless of whether or not he liked it. “So that's settled. We're just supervillains now, huh?”

“Vought attacked the country, Hughie,” Mother’s Milk said as he stared at Hughie, eyes sympathetic and voice low. “Fuck 'em all.”

* * *

Hughie’s ears were ringing as he laid on the ground, staring up at Serge. Stormfront had taken off and the electric roar of her powers had sent Hughie sprawling on the ground. Serge’s mouth was moving, but Hughie couldn’t hear anything as he blinked glassily up at the other man, seeing his lips move but hearing no sound. “Fuck, fuck, Serge? I can’t hear anything.”

Serge grabbed at Hughie’s jaw and turned his head, his lips still moving soundlessly, the overwhelming feeling of his ears being simultaneously stuffed with cotton and the sharp ringing echoing around the inside of his skull.

“Butcher, where’s Butcher?” Hughie asked, even though he couldn’t hear the answer. “Stormfront-”

“Fuck Butcher,” Serge’s lips formed the words and Hughie could hear it distantly, muffled, as if Serge was speaking through two feet of glass. “You’re hurt.”

Hughie didn’t feel hurt, but when Serge pulled his hand back from Hughie’s face his fingers were smeared with blood and Hughie wondered if it was bad that he couldn’t tell where the blood had come from.

Mother’s Milk was pulling himself up beside them, stumbling as he made his way over to them. Kimiko and Annie were racing over from where Maeve was parting ways with the group. 

“Hughie?!” Annie shouted and Hughie still could barely make out the wounds, his vision swimming as Mother’s Milk waved his hand in front of Hughie’s face. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Stormfront must have given him a concussion.” Mother’s Milk’s voice was so far away and soft he might as well have been whispering through a gas mask. “Hughie, Hughie, I’m going to need you to stay awake, okay?”

“I’m… I’m so tired.” Hughie slurred, his eyes drooping. 

“No, no, stay awake, Hughie,” Mother’s Milk grabbed Hughie’s arm. “Come on, Serge, let’s get him to safety.”

“What about Butcher?” Annie asked and Mother’s Milk repeated Serge’s earlier sentiment, just as vehemently. 

“Fuck Butcher.”

They went to the cabin nearby, staring at the enormous armored transport that was parked outside it. The doors were locked and Serge slammed his hand into the surface. They didn’t have time to try and break into and hotwire top of the line Vought tech. 

“Come on, the keys are probably inside with whoever Homelander didn’t fuck up.” Annie said as she led the group up the steps. Hughie was hauled alongside Serge and the door was opened easily enough. 

Hughie stumbled as the smell of blood and carnage filled his nose. His hearing was coming back, hazy and warbling, but louder, less distant, than before. 

“Oh fuck,” Mother’s Milk said and the sea of red spattered across the entire inside of the cabin made Hughie double over, throwing up all over his own shoes and the front porch. “Frenchie, let’s find those keys.” Hughie leaned against the doorframe as Mother’s Milk and Serge started to search what was left of the bodies inside the cabin, tearing through Vought uniforms and body armor until Annie joined in with the search, her glowing hands causing a sizzle on the very air as her powers practically cooked the fine mist of blood lingering over everything. 

“Found them!” Serge grabbed at the keys and stumbled across the slick wooden floors back to Hughie. “Come on, mon coeur, come on, you’ll be fine, let’s get you in the car.”

Hughie was practically hauled into the back of the vehicle by Serge and Annie while Mother’s Milk and Kimiko climbed into the front, starting the car up. 

“We gotta find Butcher and Becca,” Hughie whispered absently, his eyes crossing blearily as he tried to focus. “And Ryan… We gotta find them.”

“Like I said,” Serge whispered as he stroked Hughie’s hair. “Fuck Butcher.”

The car jolted into gear and Butcher made a loose turn, tearing down half of the porch of the cabin as he made his way back to the nearest highway. Hughie could hear him fumbling with his phone and then cursing when he, and the others, realized that Stormfront’s powers had fried all of their electronics. 

No way to contact Mallory or Butcher, to tell them what had happened. To warn them. 

“We gotta find a payphone or something,” Mother’s Milk plotted outloud, mostly to fill the heavy, terrified silence of the group. “We’ll call Mallory, she’ll know what to do.”

Hughie stared up at the ceiling of the transport and said. “I want to go to Panama.”

“We’ll go, petit Hughie,” Serge whispered, stroking over the younger man’s face, his voice clear as day. “The black sand beaches, right? Tell me what else.”

“Mhm,” Hughie whispered. “You know they eat something called ceviche?” The younger man felt his vision fading in and out of focus, Serge’s face swimming before him. “It’s fish that’s raw and soaked in lime and onion. The citrus cooks it.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“I want to try so many things,” Hughie whispered as he stared up at Serge. “I want to run away with you.”

“You’ll get to, kid,” Mother’s Milk called from the front. “Just stay awake.”

“I can’t,” Hughie felt his chest go tight with an unbidden emotion. “I’m so tired.”

“Hughie, stay awake,” Annie’s voice called. 

“Keep him awake, Frenchie!” Mother’s Milk barked like the Marine he was and Hughie’s eyes drifted slowly shut.

“Hughie, mon coeur, stay awake, wake up, wake up!”

* * *

Butcher was sitting on the other end of the couch when Hughie woke up, his eyes crusted with sleep as he blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings.

“Wakey wakey, sleepin’ cunt.”

“Becca? Ryan?” Hughie frowned as he felt his head give a painful throb. 

“Becca’s dead. I handed Ryan over to Mallory. She’ll take care of him.” Butcher said simply as he stared down at Hughie. “But what I want to know is how you’re feeling about me, your dear friend Billy?”

“You’re not my friend,” Hughie whispered, voice hoarse. 

“Apparently not. Frenchie told me that you two were leaving. Going down to Panama?”

Hughie stared at Butcher silently, unable to move without causing lancing pain to go through his skull. He was trapped in this conversation. 

“There’s no way you’re leaving before the job is done,” Butcher growled as he stood over Hughie. “So you tell Frenchie that you two are staying, or else I’ll hand both of you over to Vought myself.”

Hughie stared at Butcher. “You wouldn’t.” He wanted to call the man’s bluff, but the look in Butcher’s eye told him he would do whatever he thought was necessary, even if it meant to spite people he might have once called friends. “Okay.” He agreed softly, already thinking about what he could do, how he could escape with Frenchie from Vought and Mallory and Butcher’s grasps. “We’ll stay.”

Butcher pat his knee and stood, gripping Hughie’s knee tight enough that he could feel the bone and ligament grinding painfully. “Smart boy.” Butcher whispered with a growl. “We’re going to take Vought down, and if you’re alive at the end then you can fuck off to your happily ever after with Frenchie in Cancun or Thailand or whatever sex-tourism country you plan on playing house in.”

Hughie stared at Butcher and nodded quietly as the man moved around the couch.

Serge came down the basement steps and Butcher pushed past the other man with a grunted, “he’s awake” before leaving the two in silence. 

Hughie stared at Serge, who immediately bolted over and knelt beside the couch, kissing Hughie deeply. “Mon coeur.” He managed between kisses, his fingers tangling in Hughie’s hair which he was sure felt disgusting after who knew how long without a shower. 

“How long was I out?”

“Three days,” Serge whispered. “Mallory said to wait to take you to a hospital, she’s still pulling strings to get us off of the Most Wanted page on the FBI’s website.” He stroked his fingers over Hughie’s cheek, kissing him softly. “Once she does that we’ll leave.”

“We can’t.” Hughie felt tears in his eyes as he stared up at Serge. “Butcher would follow us. He’d get us killed, or kill us himself.”

Serge was quiet for a long moment, his voice choked when he said, “I know.”

“What do we do?”

Serge stroked his fingers over Hughie’s jaw and then inspiration seemed to strike. “Congresswoman Neumann.”

Hughie cupped the back of Serge’s neck and pulled him down for a soft kiss that he wanted to feel over and over again for the rest of his life. “If it means that we can escape this nightmare… I’ll do anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who patiently kept up with this fic and wrote such wonderful encouragements!


End file.
